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THE 



ANNOTATED EDITION 



ENGLISH POETS. 



v 
ROBERT BELL, 



ATJTHOE OP 

» e 



'THE HISTOKT OP EUSSIA/ 'LIVES OFlTHE ENGLISH POETS/ ETC 



■ 

)F 1 



In Monthly Volumes, 2s. 6d. each, in cloth. 

Of COQ/ 



o 1867 J 

LONDON: fc of Wash*^°' 
JOHN W. PAKKER AND SON, WEST STRAND. 

1*55- 



> 



Already Published. 
Poetical Works of John Deyden, including the most 

complete collection of his Prologues and Epilogues hitherto pub- 
lished. Edited, with a Biographical Memoir, containing New Facts 
and Original Letters of the Poet, now printed for the first time, 
with Notes, Critical and Historical. Three Yolumes, containing 
904 pp. 7s. 6d. 

Poetical Woeks of the Eael of Sueeey, of Minoe Con- 
temporaneous Poets, and of Sackvieee, Lord Bockhurst. 
With Notes and Memoirs. In One Volume, zs. 6d. 

Poetical Woeks of William Cowpee, together with Illus- 
trative Selections from the "Works of Lloyd, Cotton, Brooke, Darwin, 
and Hayley. With Notes and Memoirs, and Original Letters of 
Cowper, now first published. Three Volumes. 7s. 6d. 

Songs feom the Deamatists. With Notes, Memoirs, and 
Index. In One Volume, zs. 6d. 

Poetical Woeks of Sie Thomas Wyatt. In One Volume. 
With Notes and Memoir, zs. 6d. 

Poetical Woeks of John Oldham. In One Volume. With 

Memoir and Notes, zs. 6d. 

Poetical Woeks of Edmund Wallee. With Memoir and 
Notes. In One Volume. 2s. 6d. 

Poetical Woeks of Oeoffeey Chaucee. With Memoir 
and Notes. Vols. I. II. III. and IV. 2s. 6d. each. 

Poetical Woeks of James Thomson. With Memoir and 
Notes. Two Volumes. 5s. 

Poems of William Shakspeaee. With Memoir and Notes. 
zs. 6d. 



On the First of July, 1855, 
Poetical Woeks of Geoffeet Chaucee. Vol. V, 



Annotated Edition of the English Poets. 



rPHE necessity for a revised and carefully Annotated Edition 
-*- of the English Poets may be found in the fact, that no 
such publication exists. The only Collections we possess con- 
sist of naked and frequently imperfect Texts, put forth without 
sufficient literary supervision. Independently of other defects, 
these voluminous Collections are incomplete as a whole, from 
their omissions of many Poets whose works are of the highest 
interest, while the total absence of critical and illustrative 
Notes renders them comparatively worthless to the Student 
of our National Literature. 

A few of our Poets have been edited separately by men well 
qualified for the undertaking, and selected Specimens have 
appeared, accompanied by notices, which, as far as they go, 
answer the purpose for which they were intended. But these 
do not supply the want which is felt of a Complete Body of 
English Poetry, edited throughout with judgment and integrity, 
and combining those features of research, typographical ele- 
gance, and economy of price, which the present age demands. 

The Edition now proposed will be distinguished from all 
preceding Editions in many important respects. It will include 
the works of several Poets entirely omitted from previous Col- 
lections, especially those stores of Lyrical and Ballad Poetry 
in which our Literature is richer than that of any other Country, 
and which, independently of their poetical claims, are peculiarly 
interesting as illustrations of Historical Events and National 
Customs. 

By the exercise of a strict principle of selection, this Edition 
will be rendered intrinsically more valuable than any of its pre- 
decessors. The Text will in all instances be scrupulously col- 



Tine English Poets. 

lated, and accompanied by Biographical, Critical, and Historical 
Notes. 

An Introductory Volume will present a succinct account 
of English Poetry from the earliest times down to a period 
which will connect it with the Series of the Poets, through 
whose Lives the History of our Poetical Literature will be 
continued to the present time. Occasional volumes will be 
introduced, in which Specimens, with connecting Notices and 
Commentaries, will be given of those Poets whose works are 
not of sufficient interest to be reproduced entire. The im- 
portant materials gathered from previously unexplored sources 
by the researches of the last quarter of a century will be 
embodied wherever they may be available in the general design ; 
and by these means it is hoped that the Collection will be more 
complete than any that has been hitherto attempted, and that 
it will be rendered additionally acceptable as comprising in its 
course a Continuous History of English Poetry. 

By the arrangements that will be adopted, the Works of the 
principal Poets may be purchased separately and independently 
of the rest. The Occasional Volumes, containing, according 
to circumstances, Poetry of a particular Class or Period, Col- 
lections illustrative of Customs, Manners, and Historical 
events, or Specimens, with Critical Annotations, of the Minor 
Poets, will also be complete in themselves. 

As the works of each Poet, when completed, will be indepen- 
dent of the rest, although ultimately falling into their places 
in the Series, they will be issued irrespective of chronological 
sequence. This arrangement will present a greater choice 
and variety in the selection from month to month of poets of 
different styles and periods, and at the same time enable the 
Editor to take advantage of all new sources of information 
that may be opened to him in the progress of publication. 
General Title-pages will be finally supplied for combining the 
whole Collection into a chronological Series. 



London : John W. Parkee and Son, West Strand. 



SONGS 



THE DRAMATISTS 



EDITED 



/ 



BY ROBERT BELL 




SECOND EDITION 



P LONDON 
JOHN W. PARKER AND SON WEST STRAND 
1855 



-ffc 



\> 







&\*< 



LONDON : 

SATCLL AND EDWABDS, PBINTEBS, 

CHANDOS STBEET. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



This volume contains a collection of Songs from the 
English Dramatists, beginning with the writer of the 
first regular comedy, and ending with Sheridan. The 
want of such a collection has long been felt, and that 
it has never been supplied before must occasion sur- 
prise to all readers who are acquainted with the riches 
we possess in this branch of lyrical poetry. 

The plan upon which the work is arranged furnishes 
the means of following the course of the drama his- 
torically, and tracing in its progress the revolutions of 
style, manners, and morals that marked successive 
periods. The songs of each dramatist are distributed 
under the titles of the plays from which they are 
taken ; and the plays are given in the order of their 
production. Short biographical notices, and explana- 
tory notes, have been introduced wherever they 
appeared necessary or desirable; but all superfluous 
annotation has been carefully avoided. 

The orthography of the early songs has been 
modernized, in no instance, however, to the loss or 
injury of a phrase essential to the coloring of the age, 
or the structure of the verse. The old spelling is not 
sacred ; nor can it be always fixed with certainty. It 
was generally left to the printers, who not only differed 



IV ADVERTISEMENT. 

from each other, but sometimes from themselves. By- 
adopting a uniform and familiar orthography, the enjoy- 
ment of the beauties of these poems, the most perfect 
of their class in any language, is materially facilitated. 
In the preparation of this volume, all known acces- 
sible sources have been explored and exhausted. The 
research bestowed upon it cannot be adequately esti- 
mated by its bulk. The labour which is not repre- 
sented in the ensuing pages considerably exceeded the 
labour which has borne the fruit and flowers gathered 
into this little book. Many hundreds of plays have 
been examined without yielding any results, or such 
only as in their nature were unavailable. Some names 
will be missed from the catalogue of dramatic writers, 
and others will be found to contribute less than might 
be looked for from their celebrity ; but in all such cases 
a satisfactory explanation can be given. Marlowe's 
plays, for example, do not contain a single song, and 
Greene's only one. Southerne abounds in songs, but 
they are furnished chiefly by other writers, and are of 
the most commonplace character. Etherege has several 
broken snatches of drinking rhymes and choruses 
dancing through his comedies, full of riotous animal 
spirits soaring to the height of all manner of extrava- 
gance, and admirably suited to ventilate the profligacy 
of the day ; but for the most part they are either unfit 
for extract from their coarseness, or have not substance 
enough to stand alone. Wycherley's songs are simply 
gross, and Tom Killigrew's crude and artificial. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



On the other hand, some things will be found here 
that might not have been anticipated. A few plays 
with nothing else in them worth preservation have 
supplied an excellent song ; and others that had long 
been consigned to oblivion by their dulness or de- 
pravity, have unexpectedly tjirown up an occasional 
stanza of permanent value. 

The superiority in all qualities of sweetness, thought- 
fulness, and purity of the writers of the sixteenth and 
the beginning of the seventeenth century over their 
successors is strikingly exhibited in these productions. 
The dramatic songs of the age of Elizabeth and James I. 
are distinguished as much by their delicacy and chastity 
of feeling, as by their vigour and beauty. The change 
that took place under Charles II. was sudden and com- 
plete. With the Restoration, love disappears, and 
sensuousness takes its place. Voluptuous without 
taste or sentiment, the songs of that period may be 
said to dissect in broad daylight the life of the town, 
laying bare with revolting shamelessness the tissues of 
its most secret vices. But as this species of morbid 
anatomy required some variation to relieve its same- 
ness, the song sometimes transported the libertinism 
into the country, and through the medium of a sort 
of Covent-garden pastoral exhibited the fashionable 
delinquencies in a masquerade of Strephons and Chlo- 
rises, no better than the Courtalls and Loveits of the 
comedies. The costume of innocence gave increased 
zest to the dissolute wit, and the audiences seem to 



VI ADVERTISEMENT. 

have been delighted with the representation of their 
own licentiousness in the transparent disguise of ver- 
dant images, and the affectation of rural simplicity. 
It helped them to a spurious ideal, which rarely, 
however, lasted out to the end of the verse. The sub- 
sequent decline of the* drama is sensibly felt in the 
degeneracy of its lyrics. The interval, from the end 
of the seventeenth century to the close of the 
eighteenth, presents a multitude of songs, chiefly, 
however, in operas which do not come strictly within 
the plan of this volume ; but, with a few solitary ex- 
ceptions, they are trivial, monotonous, and conventional. 
The brilliant genius of Sheridan alone shines out with 
conspicuous lustre, and terminates the series with a 
gaiety and freshness that may be regarded as a revival 
of the spirit with which it opeiis. 

R B. 



CONTENTS. 



Advertisement. 

NICHOLAS UDALL. 
Ralph Roister Doister p. 15 

JOHN HEYWOOD. 
The Plat of Love 23 

JOHN STILL. 
Gammer Gurton's Needle 33 

JOHN BEDFORD. 
The Peat of Wit and Science 38 

THOMAS INGELEND. 
The Disobedient Child 40 

ANTHONY MUNDAY. 
John a Kent and John a Cumber 43 

LEWIS WAGER. 
The Life and Repentance of Mary Magdalene ... 45 

WILLIAM WAGER. 
The longer thou livest the more fool thou art ... 46 

JOHN LYLY. 

Alexander and Campaspe 50 

Sappho and Phaon 51 

Endymion 52 

Galathea 53 

Midas 54 

Mother Bombie 55 

GEORGE PEELE. 

The Arraignment of Paris 58 

Polyhymnia 60 

The Hunting of Cupid 61 

The Old Wife's Tale 62 

David and Bethsabe 63 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

ROBERT GREENE. 
Looking-glass fob London and England p. 65 

THOMAS NASH. 

Summer's last Will and Testament 68 

SAMUEL DANIEL. 

Cleopatra 73 

DABRIDGECOURT BELCHIER. 
Hans Beer-pot, his invisible Comedy of See Me and See 

Me Not . 76 

SHAKESPEARE. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona 77 

Love's Labour Lost . . 78 

All's Well that Ends Well 82 

A Midsummer Night's Dream 82 

Merchant of Venice # 85 

Much Ado about Nothing 87 

Merry Wives of Windsor 88 

Twelfth Night 88 

As You Like It 90 

Measure for Measure 95 

A Winter's Tale 96 

The Tempest 98 

King Henry IV. Part II 100 

King Henry V 101 

King Henry VEIL 101 

Hamlet 102 

Cymbeline 104 

Othello 105 

King Lear 106 

Macbeth 107 

Timon of Athens 108 

Troilus and Cressida 109 

Antony and Cleopatra 109 

BEN JONSON. 

Cynthia's Revels 110 

The Poetaster 112 

Volpone; or, The Fox 114 

The Queen's Masque 115 

Epicoene; or, The Silent Woman 116 



CONTENTS. IX 

Bartholomew Fair • p- 117 

The New Inn; or, The Light Heart 120 

The Sad Shepherd ; or, a Tale of Kobin Hood .... 120 

The Forest 121 

FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER. 

The Maid's Tragedy 122 

The Elder Brother 122 

The Spanish Curate 123 

"Wit without Money 125 

Beggar's Bush 125 

The Humorous Lieutenant 126 

The Faithful Shepherdess 126 

The Mad Lover 137 

The Loyal Subject 139 

The False One 140 

The Little French Lawyer 142 

The Tragedy of Valentinian 142 

Monsieur Thomas 143 

The Chances 144 

The Bloody Brother ; or, Rollo, Duke of Normandy . 145 

A "Wife for a Month 148 

The Lovers' Progress 149 

The Pilgrim 149 

The Captain 150 

The Queen of Corinth. . 152 

The Knight of the Burning Pestle 152 

The Maid in the Mill 156 

"Women Pleased 156 

Cupid's Revenge 157 

The two Noble Kinsmen 159 

The Woman-hater 160 

The Nice Valour ; or, the Passionate Madman . . . . 161 

THOMAS MIDDLETON. 
Blurt, Master Constable ; or, the Spaniard's Night- 
walk 165 

A Mad World, my Masters 167 

The Witch 168 

More Dissemblers besides "Women 170 

A Chaste Maid in Cheapside 171 

THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. 

The Spanish Gipsy 171 



X CONTENTS. 

BEN JONSON, FLETCHER, AND MIDDLETON. 
The Widow p. 176 

THOMAS DEKKER. 
Old Fortunatus 177 

T. DEKKER AND R. WILSON. 
The Shoemaker's Holiday; or, The Gentle Craft . . 178 

THOMAS DEKKER, HENRY CHETTLE, AND WILLIAM 

HAUGHTON. 

The Pleasant Comedy of Patient Grissell 180 

JOHN WEBSTER. 

The White Devil; or, Victoria Corombona 182 

The Duchess of Malfy 183 

JOHN WEBSTER AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. 
The Thracian Wonder 184 

SAMUEL ROWLEY. 
The Noble Spanish Soldier 189 

THOMAS GOFFE. 

Orestes 190 

The Careless Shepherdess 191 

CHETTLE AND MUNDAY. 
The Death of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon 192 

THOMAS HEY WOOD. 

The Rape of Lucrece 195 

Love's Mistress; or, The Queen's Masque 197 

First Part of King Edward IV 198 

The Silver Age 198 

The Fair Maid of the Exchange 198 

A Challenge for Beauty 199 

The Golden Age 201 

PHILIP MASSINGER. 

The Picture 202 

The Emperor of the East 203 

The Guardian 203 

JOHN FORD. 

The Sun's Darling .... 206 

The Lover's Melancholy 209 



CONTENTS. XI 

The Broken Heart p. 209 

The Lady's Trial 211 

SIR JOHN SUCKLING 

Aglaura 212 

Brennoralt 213 

The Goblins 214 

The Sad One 214 

WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 

The Ordinary 215 

PHINEAS FLETCHER. 

The Siceeides 216 

WILLIAM HABINGTON. 

The Queen of Arragon 218 

BARTEN HOLIDAY. 

Texnotamia; or, The Marriage of the Arts 220 

JAMES SHIRLEY. 

Love Tricks 222 

The Witty Fair One 223 

The Bird in a Cage 223 

The Triumph of Peace 224 

St. Patrick for Ireland 225 

The Arcadia 225 

Cupid and Death 226 

The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses 227 

SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 

The Siege of Rhodes 228 

The Unfortunate Lovers 229 

The Law against Lovers . . • 231 

The Man's the Master 232 

The Cruel Brother 233 

GERVASE MARKHAM AND WILLIAM SAMPSON. 

Herod and Antipater 234 

JASPER MAYNE. 

The City Match 235 

SIR SAMUEL TUKE. 

The Adventures of Two Hours 236 



Xll CONTENTS. 

SIR WILLIAM KILLIGREW. 

Selindra p. 236 

JOHN DRYDEX. 

The Indian Queen 239 

The Indian Emperor 240 

Secret Love ; or, The Maiden Queen 240 

Sir Martin Mar- ale ; or, The Feigned Innocence . . . 241 

Tyrannic Love ; or, The Royal Martyr . . .... 242 

Amboyna 243. 

At.bion and Aebanus 244 

King Arthur ; or, The British "Worthy 244 

Cleomenes; or, The Spartan Hero 245 

Love Triumphant; or, Nature wide prevail 246 

The Secular Masque 247 

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE. 

Love in a Tub 247 

THOMAS SHADWELL. 

The Woman Captain , 248 

The Amorous Bigot 243 

Timon of Athens 249 

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 

The Mulberry Garden 249 

TOM D'URFEY. 

The Comical History of Don Quixote 251 

The Modern Prophets; or, New Wit for a Husband . 251 

SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 

The Relapse; or, Virtue in Danger 252 

The Provoked Wite 253 

JEsop 253 

WILLIAM CONGREYE. 

Love for Love 254 

The Way of the World 255 

GEORGE FARQUHAR. 

Love and a Bottle 256 

The Twins 257 

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 

The Duenna 257 

The School for Scandal .259 



SONGS 

FEOM 

THE DRAMATISTS. 



NICHOLAS UDALL. 
1505-1556. 

[Nicholas Udall, descended from Peter Lord Uvedale and 
Nicholas Udall, constable of Winchester Castle in the 
reign of Edward III.,* was born in Hampshire in 1505 or 
1506, admitted scholar of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, 
1520, and became probationary fellow 1524, but did not 
obtain his master's degree for ten years afterwards, in conse- 
quence of his known attachment to the doctrines of Luther. 
His first literary work was a pageant in Latin and English, 
exhibited by the mayor and citizens of London, to celebrate 
the entrance of Anne Bullen into the city after her marriage. 
This was written in 1532, in conjunction with Leland, the 
antiquary, with whom he had formed a friendship at Oxford. 
In 1534, having acquired a high reputation for scholarship, 
he was appointed head master of Eton. His severity in this 
capacity rendered him odious to the pupils, and has been 
specially recorded by Tusser, who says that Udall inflicted 
fifty- three stripes upon him ' for fault but small, or none at 
all.'f Udall continued at Eton till 1541, when he was 
brought before the council at Westminster, on a charge of 
having been concerned with two of the scholars and a servant 



* Communicated to the Gentleman's Magazine, v. lxxx. p. n. by 
Robert Uvedale, in reply to the inquiries of Dr. Mavor, then making 
collections for his edition of Tusser. 

t See the poetical life added by Tusser to his poems. 

THE DRAMATISTS. 2 



14 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

of his own in a robbery of silver images and plate which had 
taken place at the college. There seems to be little doubt of 
his guilty knowledge of the transaction, if not of actual com- 
plicity in the theft, for he was dismissed from the mastership, 
and applied in vain to be restored. No further proceedings, 
however, were taken against him. From this time he devoted 
himself to literature, and took a leading part in the discus- 
sions against Popery. His great learning, and the services 
he rendered to religion by his controversial writings and his 
eloquence in the pulpit, were rewarded by his presentation to 
a stall at Windsor in 1551, and his nomination to the par- 
sonage of Calborne, in the Isle of Wight, two years afterwards. 
These preferments in the church were not considered incon- 
sistent with the encouragement of his skill as a dramatic 
writer; and in 1553 and 1554 he was ordered to prepare an 
entertainment for the feast of the coronation of Queen Mary, 
— Dialogues and Interludes to be performed at court. About 
this time he was appointed head master of Westminster 
school, which he held till 1556, when the monastery was 
re-established in the November of that year. He died in the 
following month, and was buried at St. Margaret's.* 

It had long been supposed that Gammer Ghirtoris Needle 
was the first regular English comedy. This supposition 
rested on the authority of Wright, the author of the Historia 
Histrionica. But the discovery, in 1818, of a copy of Ralph 
Roister Doister, printed in 1566 (curiously enough the 
year in which Gammer Ghirton's Needle was acted), trans- 
ferred the precedence to Nicholas Udall. At what time 
Udall wrote this play is not known. The earliest reference 
to it occurs in Wilson's Rule of Reason, printed in 1551 
From a contemporary allusion in the play to a certain 
ballad-maker, also alluded to by Skelton, who died in 1533, 

* These particulars are chiefly derived from Mr. "W. Durrant 
Cooper's careful memoir prefixed to the edition of Ralph Roister 
Doister, reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, from the unique copy 
in Eton College. The memoir may be consulted for a further account 
of Udall's works. 



NICHOLAS UDALL. 15 

Kr. Collier conjectures that the comedy was a youthful pro- 
duction.* This is extremely probable ; although the evidence 
is not decisive, as the ballad-maker alluded to might have 
survived, and maintained his notoriety many years after the 
death of Skelton. However that may be, the claim of this 
comedy to be considered the first in our language is indis- 
putable. It must have preceded Gammer Gurton's Needle 
by at least fifteen years ; and, being at that period so well 
known as to be quoted by Wilson, we may reasonably assign 
it to a much earlier date. 

The comedy is written in rhyme, and divided into acts and 
scenes. The action takes place in London, and the plot, con- 
structed with a surprising knowledge of stage art, aitords 
ample opportunity for the development of a variety of 
characters. The copy discovered in 1818 wants the title- 
page, but is presumed to have borne the date of 1566, as in 
that year Thomas Hackett had a license to print it. In 1818 
a limited reprint was made by the Kev. Mr. Briggs, who 
deposited the original in the library of Eton College. ' There 
was a singular propriety,' observes Mr. Collier, ' in presenting 
it to Eton College, as Udall had been master of the school ;' 
a circumstance which was entirely fortuitous, Mr. Briggs not 
being acquainted even with the name of the author. It was 
reprinted in 182 1 and 1830, and lastly by the Shakespeare 
Society in 1847.] 

RALPH ROISTER DOISTER. 



THE WOKK-GIBLS' SONG.f 

PIPE, merry Annot ; 
Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
Work, Tibet; work, Annot; work, Margerie; 
Sew, Tibet; knit, Annot; spin, Margerie; 
Let us see who will win the victory. 

* His. En. Dram. Poetry, ii. 246. 
t To make this lively round intelligible, the reader should be in- 
formed that it is sung by three sewing girls, who are variously em- 

2—2 



16 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Pipe, merry Annot ; 

Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
What, Tibet ! what, Annot ! what, Margerie ! 
Ye sleep, but we do not, that shall we try; 
Your fingers be numb, our work will not lie. 

Pipe, merry Annot ; 

Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
Now Tibet, now Annot, now Margerie ; 
Now whippet apace for the maystrie :* 
But it will not be, our mouth is so dry. 

Pipe, merry Annot; 

Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
When, Tibet? when, Annot 1 ? when, Margerie? 
I will not, — I can not, — no more can I ; 
Then give we all over, and there let it lie ! 

THE SEWING-MEN'S SONG. 

A THING very fit 
For them that have wit, 
And are fellows knit, 
Servants in one house to be; 
As fast for to sit 
And not oft to flit, 
Nor vary a whit, 
But lovingly to agree. 



ployed, as indicated in the first stanza. The stage directions at the 
opening of the scene describe their several occupations : ' Madge 
Mumblecrust spinning on the distaff — Tibet Talkative sewing — Annot 
Alyface knitting.' After some idle clatter, in which they are joined 
by the hair-brained Roister Doister, they agree to sing a song, to 
beguile the time and help them on in their work. 

Annot. Let all these matters pass, and we three sing a song; 
So shall we pleasantly both the time beguile now, 
And eke dispatch all our work, ere we can tell how. 
Tibet. I shrew them that say nay, and that shall not be I. 
Madge. And I am well content. 
Tibet. Sing on then by and by. 

* Mastery, superior skill. 



NICHOLAS UDALL. 

No man complaining, 
Nor other disdaining, 
For loss or for gaining. 

But fellows or friends to be; 
No grudge remaining, 
No work refraining, 
Nor help restraining, 

But lovingly to agree. 

No man for despite, 

By word or by write, 

His fellow to twite, 
But further in honesty; 

No good turns entwite,* 

Nor old sores recite, 

But let all go quite, 
And lovingly to agree. 

After drudgery, 

When they be weary, 

Then to be merry, 
To laugh and sing they be free; 

"With chip and cherie, 

Heigh derie derie, 

Trill on the berie, 
And lovingly to agree. 

THE MINION WIFE. 

TTJHO so to marry a minion t wife, 
* " Hath had good chance and hap, 
Must love her and cherish her all his life, 
And dandle her in his lap. 

If she will fare well, if she will go gay, 

A good husband ever still, 
What ever she list to do or to say, 

Must let her have her own will. 



17 



Twite, entwite — to twit, to reproach. t Pet or darling. 



18 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

About what affairs so ever he go, 
He must shew her all his mind, 

None of his counsel she may be kept fro, 
Else is he a man unkind. 



I MUN BE MAEEIED A SUNDAY. 

I MUN" be married a Sunday ; 
1 mun be married a Sunday ; 
Who soever shall come that way, 
I mun be married a Sunday. 

Roister Doister is my name; 
Roister Doister is my name ; 
A lusty brute I am the same ; 
I mun be married a Sunday. 

Christian Custance have I found; 
Christian Custance have I found; 
A widow worth a thousand pound : 
I mun be married a Sunday. 

Custance is as sweet as honey; 
Custance is as sweet as honey; 
I her lamb, and she my coney; 
I mun be married a Sunday. 

When we shall make our wedding feast, 
When we shall make our wedding feast, 
There shall be cheer for man and beast, 
I mun be married a Sunday. 

I mun be married a Sunday.* 

* The following passage occurs in the Taming of the Shrew: — 
We will have rings, and things, and fine array ; 
And kiss me, Kate, we witt be married o' Sunday. 

Act ii, Sc. i. 
The concluding words, probably intended to be sung with a fine air 
of banter and bravery by Petruchio as he goes off the stage, are 
evidently taken from the burthen of Ralph Roister Doister's song, 
which we may, therefore, infer to have been one of the popular 
ballads in Shakespeare's time. 



JOHN HEYWOOD. 19 

THE PSALMODIE FOR THE REJECTED LOVER. 

TV/TAISTER Roister Doister will straight go home 
-L"- and die, 

Our Lord Jesus Christ his soul have mercy upon : 
Thus you see to day a man, to morrow John. 

Yet, saving for a woman's extreme cruelty, 
He might have lived yet a month, or two, or three ; 
But, in spite of Custance, which hath him wearied, 
His mashyp shall be worshipfully buried. 
And while some piece of his soul is yet him within, 
Some part of his funeral let us here begin. 
Dirige. He will go darkling to his grave ; 
Neque lux, neque crux, nisi solum clink ; 
Never genman so went toward heaven, I think. 
Yet, sirs, as ye will the bliss of heaven win, 
"When he cometh to the grave, lay him softly in ; 
And all men take heed, by this one gentleman, 
How you set your love upon an unkind woman; 
For these women be all such mad peevish elves, 
They will not be won, except it please themselves. 
But, in faith, Custance, if ever ye come in hell, 
Maister Roister Doister shall serve you as well. 

Good night, Roger old knave; Farewell, Roger old 

knave; 
Good night, Roger old knave; knave knap. 
Nequando. Audivi vocem. Requiem ceternam. 

\A peal of bells rung by the Parish Clerk 
and Roister Doister s four men. 



JOHN HEYWOOD. 

I57-- 

[John Heywood's claims to a prominent place amongst the 
dramatists are not very considerable. His productions in 
this way are neither numerous nor important. They can 



20 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

scarcely be called plays, in the higher sense of the term, and 
are more accurately described by the designation usually 
applied to them of Interludes, having few characters and 
scarcely any plot, and consisting entirely of an uninterrupted 
dialogue, without an attempt at action or structural design. 
They may be said to represent the transition from the Mo- 
ralities to the regular drama ; and in this point of view they 
possess a special interest. 

The date of Heywood's birth is not known, nor has the 
place been ascertained with certainty. According to Bale 
and Wood, he was born in the city of London, and received 
his education in the University of Oxford, at the ancient 
hostel of Broadgate, in St. Aldgate's parish. Other writers 
assert that he was born at North Mimms, near St. Alban's, 
Hertfordshire, where the family had some property, and at 
which place he lived after he left college ; while a MS. in the 
possession of the Earl of Ellesmere describes him as a native 
of Kent. 

Hey wood had no inclination for the life of a student. His 
tastes lay in music, good fellowship, and ' mad, merry wit ;' 
and, as he tells us in one of his epigrams, he applied himself 
to 'mirth more than thrift.' That he profited little by his 
residence at Oxford may be inferred from an observation 
made by Puttenham, who ascribes the favour in which he 
stood at Court to his ' mirth and quickness of conceit more 
than any good learning that was in him.' In Hertfordshire 
he became acquainted with Sir Thomas More, who lived in 
the neighbourhood, and who was so well pleased with his 
aptness for jest and repartee, qualities in much request at 
that period with the reigning monarch, that he not only 
introduced him to Henry VIII., but is said to have assisted 
him in the composition of his epigrams. He became a great 
favourite with the king, who appears, from the Book of Pay- 
ments, to have taken him into his service as a player on the 
virginal ; and gratuities from both the princesses are to be 
found amongst the items of the royal expenditure. In addi- 



JOHN HEYWOOD. 21 

tion to his wit and his music, he appears also to have had 
some talent as an actor, and to have presented an interlude 
at court (written no doubt by himself), played, according to 
the fashion then prevalent, by children. Heywood was a 
staunch Eoman Catholic, a circumstance to which, we may 
presume, he was mainly indebted for the particular favours 
bestowed upon him by the Princess Mary, who admitted him 
to the most intimate conversation during the time of Henry 
VIII. and the succeeding reign ; and conferred a distinguished 
mark of her patronage upon him when she came to the 
throne, by appointing him to address her in a Latin and 
English oration on her procession through the city to West- 
minster the day before her coronation. These were the 
palmy days of Heywood's career. The queen was so great 
an admirer of his humorous talents that she constantly sent 
for him to beguile the hours of illness, and is said to have 
sought relief from pain in his diverting stories even when 
she was languishing on her death- bed. ' His stories,' ob- 
serves Chalmers, ' must have been diverting, indeed, if they 
soothed the recollections of such a woman/ 

Upon the death of Queen Mary he suffered the reverse 
which attended most of her personal adherents. The Pro- 
testant religion was now in the ascendancy, and Heywood 
had been so conspicuous a follower of the late sovereign, that 
he either could not endure to live under the rule of her suc- 
cessor, or was apprehensive that his safety would be jeopar- 
dized if he remained in England. He accordingly left the 
kingdom, and settled at Mechlin, in Belgium, where Wood 
informs us he died in 1565. The Ellesmere MS., however, 
says that he was still living in 1576. He left two sons, 
Ellis and Jasper, who both became Jesuits, and were eminent 
for their learning. 

In private life Heywood was a humorist and a jovial com- 
panion. The same character pervades his writings, which 
derived their popularity in his own time mainly from his 
social talents and his position at court. He began to write 



22 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

about 1530 ; and his interludes, with, one exception, were 
published in 1533.* His parable upon Queen Mary, called 
The Spider and the Fly, appeared in 1556, and his epigrams, 
by which he is best known to modern readers, in 1576. 

The Play of Love, from which the following song is 
extracted, affords a fair sample of his dramatic system. 
The characters are mere abstractions — a Lover loving 
and not loved, a Woman loved and not loving, and a 
Vice who neither loves nor is loved. The dialogue draws 
out these metaphysical entities into a discourse which much 
more nearly resembles the application of the exhausting pro- 
cess to a very dull argument than the development of a 
passion. In the song taken from this play, Heywood adopts 
the vein of Skelton, who died in 1529, and who was not, as 
has been stated, one of his contemporaries. Heywood rarely 
displayed much tenderness of feeling, or an instinct of the 
beautiful; but more of these qualities will be found in this 
song, and in his verses on the Princess Mary,f than might be 
expected from the general character of his writings.] 



* For an account of these interludes the reader may be referred to 
Mr. Fairholt's excellent introduction to Heywood's Dialogue on Wit 
and Folly, printed by the Percy Society, from the original MS. in the 
British Museum. 

t Harleian MS., No. 1703. This poem, entitled A Description of a 
most Noble Lady, was printed in Park's edition of Walpole's Royal 
and Noble Authors, and a modernized copy of it is given in Evans's 
Old Ballads ; another and a different version, in which some stanzas 
are omitted, and others altered, was published in Tottel's Miscellany, 
amongst the contributions of ' Uncertain Authors,' and quoted in that 
form (with the exception of a single verse) in Ellis's Specimens. 
Tottel's version will be found complete amongst the specimens of 
minor poets contemporaneous with Surrey, in the volume of Surrey's 
Poems, Ann. Ed. p. 2 11. It is there inserted, as it had been previously 
copied by Ellis, amongst the ' Uncertain Authors,' and a conjecture 
hazarded from internal evidence that it might have been written by 
George Boleyn. There is no doubt, however, that the poem in the 
Harleian MS. was written by Heywood, and that the share which 
the ' uncertain author,' whoever he may have been, had in Tottel's 
version, consisted in imparting certain refinements to the original, 
by which the sweetness and beauty of the expression are much 
heightened. 



JOHN HEYWOOD. 23 

THE PLAY OF LOVE. 



IN PEAISE OF HIS LADY. 

AND to begin 
At setting in : 
First was her skin 
White, smooth and thin, 
And every vein 
So blue seen plain; 
Her golden hair 
To see her wear, 
Her wearing gear, 
Alas! I fear 
To tell all to you, 
1 shall undo you. 
Her eye so rolling 
Each heart controlling; 
Her nose not long, 
Her stode not wrong : 
Her finger tips 
So clean she clips; 
Her rosy lips, 
Her cheeks gossips 
So fair, so ruddy, 
It axeth study 
The whole to tell ; 
Tt did excel. 
It was so made 
That even the shade 
At every glade 
Would hearts invade : 
The paps small, 
And round withal ; 
The waist not mickle, 
But it was tickle :* 

* In the sense of exciting. Tyclcyll also meant unsteady, un- 
certain, doubtful. A thing was tickle that did not stand firmly — 



24 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

The thigh, the knee, 
As they should be ; 
But such a leg, 
A lover would beg 
To set eye on, 
But it is gone : 
Then, sight of the foot 
Bift hearts to the root. 



[The four songs that follow are derived from another source. 
There is no evidence to show that they were written for the 
stage, although it is not improbable that some of them might 
have been sung in the interludes. Whether such a suppo- 
sition may be considered sufficient to justify their insertion 
in this collection, I will not pretend to determine; but the 
reader who takes an interest in our early ballads will dis- 
cover an ample reason for their introduction in tLe broad 
light they throw upon the lyrical poetry of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, and especially upon the peculiar style and manner of 
Heywood. 

These four songs, together with many others, are contained 
in the same MS. with Bedford's play of Wit and Science, 
which belonged to the late Mr. Bright, and was printed in 
1848 by the Shakespeare Society, under the discriminating 
editorship of Mr. Halliwell. ' The collection of songs by 
John Heywood and others,' observes Mr. Halliwell, 'is of 
considerable interest to the poetical antiquary ; some are re- 
markably curious, and all of them belong to a period at which 
the reliques of that class of composition are exceedingly rare, 
and difficult to be met with.' 

The collection contains eight songs by Heywood. The 
four here selected are intrinsically the best, and the most cha- 
racteristic of the manner of the writer.] 



tickle weather was uncertain weather. Hence the modern phrase 
ticklish — a ticklish case, a doubtful case. 



JOHN HEYWOOD. 25 

THE SONG- OF THE GKEEN WILLOW.* 



A LL 



jL a green willow, willow, 

All a green willow is my garland. 



Alas ! by what means may I make ye to know 
The unkindness for kindness that to me doth grow ? 
That one who most kind love on me should bestow, 
Most unkind unkindness to me she doth show, 
For all a green willow is my garland ! 

To have love and hold love, where love is so sped, 
Oh ! delicate food to the lover so fed ! 
From love won to love lost where lovers be led, 
Oh ! desperate dolor, the lover is dead ! 

For all a green willow is his garland ! 

She said she did love me, and would love me still, 
She swore above all men I had her good will ; 
She said and she swore she would my will fulfil ; 
The promise all good, the performance all ill ; 
For all a green willow is my garland ! 

* The ballad, of which a fragment is sung by Desdemona, (Othello, 
Act iv. Scene iii.), derives its burthen from this song, which Mr. 
Halliwell observes is, perhaps, the oldest in our language with the 
willow burthen. There are many other songs with the same refrain 
of a later date. The following verse, or canto, is probably the earliest 
imitation of Heywood's song extant. It is extracted from an 
anonymous prose comedy, called Sir Gyles Goosecappe, presented by 
the children of the chapel, and printed in 1 606. The canto winds up 
the piece, and the allusion to the willow bears upon aboasting Captain 
who is left without a bride in the end. 

Willow, willow, willow, 

Our captain goes down : 
Willow, willow, willow, 

His valour doth crown. 
The rest with rosemary we grac, 

O Hymen, light thy light, 
With richest rays gild every face, 
And feast hearts with delight. 
Willow, willow, willow, 

We chaunt to the skies : 

And with black and yellow, 

Give courtship the prize. 



26 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Now, woe with the willow, and woe with, the wight 
That windeth willow, willow garland to dight ! 
That dole dealt in allmys* is all amiss quite ! 
Where lovers are beggars for allmys in sight, 

No lover doth beg for this willow garland ! 

Of this willow garland the burden seems small, 
But my break-neck burden I may it well call ; 
Like the sow of lead on my head it doth iall ! 
Break head, and break neck, back, bones, brain, heart 
All parts pressed in pieces ! [and all ! 

Too ill for her think I best things may be had, 
Too good for me thinketh she things being most bad, 
All I do present her that may make her glad, 
All she doth present me that may make me sad ; 

This equity have I with this willow garland ! 

Could T forget thee, as thou canst forget me, 
That were my sound fault, which cannot nor shall be ; 
Though thou, like the soaring hawk, every way flee, 
I will be the turtle still steadfast to thee, 

And patiently wear this willow garland ! 

All ye that have had love, and have my like wrong, 
My like truth and patience plant still ye among ; 
"When feminine fancies for new love do long, 
Old love cannot hold them, new love is so strong, 
For all. 



BE 3IEKBY, EEIEKDS.f 

BE merry, friends, take ye no thought, 
.For worldly cares care ye right nought ; 

* The allmys-dish, or alms-dish, was the dish in the old halls and 
country houses where bread was placed for the poor. 

t In the collection called A Book of Roxburglw Ballads, edited by 
Mr. Collier, there is a modernized version of this song, taken from a 
broadside printed soon after 1600. It contains some additional 
stanzas, which I have inserted in brackets to distinguish them from 
the version given by Mr. Halliwell. 



JOHN KEYWOOD. 27 

For whoso doth, when all is sought, 
Shall find that thought availeth nought ; 
Be merry, friends! 

All such as have all wealth at will, 
Their wills at will for to fulfil, 
From grief or grudge or any ill 
I need not sing this them until, 

Be merry, friends ! 

But unto such as wish and want 
Of worldly wealth wrought them so scant, 
That wealth by work they cannot plant, 
To them I sing at this instant, 

Be merry, friends ! 

And such as when the rest seem next, 
Then they be straight extremely vexed; 
And such as be in storms perplexed, 
To them I sing this short sweet text, 
Be merry, friends ! 

To laugh and win each man agrees, 
But each man cannot laugh and lose, 
Yet laughing in the last of those 
Hath been allowed of sage decrees ; 
Be merrj, friends ! 

Be merry with sorrow, wise men have said, 
Which saying, being wisely weighed, 
It seems a lesson truly laid 
For those whom sorrows still invade, 
Be merry, friends ! 

Make ye not two sorrows of one, 
For of one grief grafted alone 
To graft a sorrow thereupon, 
A sourer crab we can graft none ; 
Be merry, friends ! 



28 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Taking our sorrows sorrowfully, 
Sorrow augmenteth our malady; 
Taking our sorrows merrily, 
Mirth salveth sorrows most soundly; 
Be merry, friends ! 

Of griefs to come standing in fray, 
Provide defence the best we may; 
Which done, no more to do or say, 
Come what come shall, come care away ! 
Be merry, friends! 

In such things as we cannot flee, 
But needs they must endured be, 
Let wise contentment be decree 
Make virtue of necessity; 

Be merry, friends ! 

To lack or lose that we would win, 
So that our fault be not therein, 
What woe or want, end or begin, 
Take never sorrow but for sin ! 

Be merry, friends ! 

In loss of friends, in lack of health, 
In loss of goods, in lack of wealth, 
Where liberty restraint expelleth, 
Where all these lack, yet as this telleth, 
Be merry, friends !* 

Man hardly hath a richer thing 
Than honest mirth, the which well-spring 
Watereth the roots of rejoicing, 
Feeding the flowers of flourishing ; 
Be merry, friends !t 

In the Roxburghe copy this verse is thus modernized 
If friends be lost, then get thee more ; 
If wealth be lost, thou still hast store — 
The merry man is never poor, 
He lives upon the world ; therefore, 

Be merry, friends I 
t This verse is omitted in the Roxburghe copy. 



JOHN HEYWOOD. 29 

[The loss of wealth is loss of dirt, 
As sages in all times assert; 
The happy man's without a shirt, 
And never comes to maim or hurt. 
Be merry, friends! 

All seasons are to him the spring, 
In flowers bright and flourishing; 
With birds upon the tree or wing, 
Who in their fashion always sing 

Be merry, friends! 

If that thy doublet has a hole in, 
Why, it cannot keep the less thy soul in, 
Which rangeth forth beyond controlling 
Whilst thou hast nought to do but trolling 
Be merry, friends !] 

Be merry in God, saint Paul saith plain, 
And yet, saith he, be merry again ; 
Since whose advice is not in vain, 
The fact thereof to entertain, 

Be merry, friends ! 

[Let the world slide, let the world go: 
A fig for care, and a fig for woe ! 
If I can't pay, why I can owe, 
And death makes equal the high and low. 
Be merry, friends !] 



WHAT heart can think, or tongue express, 
The harm that groweth of idleness 1 ? 

This idleness in some of us 

Is seen to seem a thing but slight ; 

But if that sum the sums discuss, 

The total sum doth show us straight 
This idleness to weigh such weight 

That it no tongue can well express, 

The harm that groweth of idleness. 

THE DEAMATISTS. 3 



30 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

This vice I liken to a weed 

That husband-men have named tyne, 

The which in corn doth root or breed; 
The grain to ground it doth incline 
It never ripeth, but rotteth in fine; 

And even a like thing is to guess 

Against all virtue, idleness. 

The proud man may be patient, 
The ireful may be liberal, 

The gluttonous may be continent, 
The covetous may give alms all, 
The lecher may to prayer* fall; 

Each vice bideth some good business, 

Save only idle idleness. 

As some one virtue may by grace 

Suppress of vices many a one, 
So is one vice once taken place 

Destroyeth all virtues every one ; 

Where this vice cometh, all virtues are gone. 
In no kind of good business 
Can company with idleness. 

An ill wind that bloweth no man good, 
The blower of which blast is she ; 

The lythert lusts bred of her brood 
Can no way breed good property; 
Wherefore I say, as we now see, 

2so heart can think, or tongue express, 

The harm that groweth of idleness ! 

To cleanse the corn, as men at need 

Weed out all weeds, and tyne for chief, 

Let diligence our weed-hook weed 
All vice from us for like relief; 
As faith may faithfully shew proof 

By faithful fruitful business, 

To weed out fruitless idleness. 

* This word was constantly used as a dissyllable. t Lazy. 



JOHN HEYWOOD. 31 



WELCOME IS THE BEST DISH. 

YE be -welcome, ye be welcome, 
Ye be welcome one by one ; 
Ye be heartily welcome, 

Ye be heartily welcome every one ! 

When friends like friends do friendly show 
Unto each other high and low, 
What cheer increase of love doth grow, 
What better cheer than they to know ! 

This is welcome! 
To bread or drink, to flesh or fish, 
Yet welcome is the best dish ! 

In all our fare, in all our cheer 
Of dainty meats sought far or near, 
Most fine, most costly to appear, 
What for all this, if all this gear 

Lack this welcome? 
This cheer, lo ! is not worth one rush, 
For welcome is the best dish ! 

Where welcome is, though fare be small, 
Yet honest hearts be pleased withal ; 
When welcome want, though great fare fall, 
No honest heart content it shall 

Without welcome; 
For honest hearts do ever wish 
To have welcome to the best dish. 

Some with small fare they be not pleased ; 
Some with much fare be much diseased; 
Some with mean fare be scant appeased; 
But of all somes none is displeased 

To be welcome ! 
Then all good cheer to accomplish, 
Welcome must be the best dish. 

3—2 



32 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Yet some to this will say that they 
Without welcome with meat live may, 
And with welcome without meat, nay ! 
"Wherefore meat seems best dish, they say, 

And not welcome ! 
But this vain saying to banish, 
We will prove welcome here best dish. 

Though in some case, for man's relief, 
Meat without welcome may be chief; 
Yet where man come, as here in proof, 
Much more for love than hungers grief, 

Here is welcome. 
Thorough all the cheer to furnish, 
Here is welcome the best dish. 

What is this welcome now to tell? 
Ye are welcome, ye are come well, 
As heart can wish your coming fell, 
Your coming glads my heart each dell ! 

This is welcome ! 
Wherefore all doubts to relinquish, 
Your welcome is your best dish. 

Now as we have in words here spent 
Declared the fact of welcome meant, 
So pray we you to take the intent 
Of this poor dish that we present 

To your welcome, 
As heartily as heart can wish ; 
Your welcome is here your best dish ! 



JOHN STILL. 

1543— 1607. 

[There is little known of the life of John Still beyond the 

incidents of his preferments in the church. He was the son 

of William Still, of Grantham, in Lincolnshire, where he was 



JOHN STILL. 33 

bom in 1543. He took the degree of M.A. at Christ's 
College, Cambridge, where he was made Margaret Professor 
in 1 570; and in subsequent years was elected Master of St. 
John's, and afterwards of Trinity College. In 157 1 he was 
presented to the Rectory of Hadleigh, in Suffolk, commissioned 
one of the Deans of Booking in 1572, collated to the vicarage 
of Eastmarham, in Yorkshire, in 1573, and installed Canon of 
Westminster and Dean of Sudbury in 1576. He was chosen 
prolocutor of convocation in 1588, promoted in 1592 to the 
see of Bath and Wells, and held the bishopric till his death in 
1607, having amassed a large fortune by the Mendip lead 
mines in the diocese, and endowed an almshouse in Wales, 
to which he bequeathed £500. Bishop Still was twice 
married, and left a large family. His excellent character is 
attested by Sir John Harrington, who says, that he was a 
man ' to whom he never came, but he grew more religious, 
and from whom he never went but he parted more instructed.' 
The comedy of Gammer Gurtons Needle was originally 
printed in 1575, but written several years earlier. It is com- 
posed in rhyme, and regularly divided into acts and scenes. 
The plot is meagre and silly, the whole of the five acts being 
occupied by a hunt after a needle which Gammer Gurton is 
supposed to have mislaid, but which is found, by way of 
catastrophe, in a garment she had been mending. The alter- 
cations, quarrels, mishaps, and cross-purposes, arising out of 
this circumstance constitute the entire substance of the piece. 
The dialogue is coarse, even for the age in which it was 
written, and the humour seldom rises above the level of 
clowns and buffoons.] 

GAMMER GUETON'S NEEDLE. 



B 



DEINKING SONG.* 

ACK and side go bare, go bare, 
Both foot and hand go cold : 



* Warton, in his History of Poets, in. zo6, quotes this song as the 
first Clumson it boire of aiiy merit in our language. He says it 



34 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

But belly, God send thee good ale enough, 
Whether it be new or old. 
I can not eat, but little meat, 
My stomach is not good; 



appeared in 1 55 1 . This must be an oversight, if Still is to be considered 
the author, as he was then only eight years old. The comedy was 
produced in i5<56, and printed for the first time in i575. This song, 
observes Warton, ' has a vein of ease and humour which we should 
not expect to have been inspired by the simple beverage of those 
times.' Still less might it have been expected from the writer of 
the dialogue of this piece, the versification of which is harsh and 
lumbering. Whether Bishop Still really wrote the song, may be 
doubted. Mr. Dyce, in his edition of Skelton's works, gives another 
version of it from a MS. in his possession, which he says is certainly 
of an earlier date than i575. The differences are very curious and 
interesting ; but the most striking point of variance is the omission of 
the verse referring to Tyb, Gammer Gurtons maid, which suggests 
the probability that the song may have been originally an independent 
composition, of which Bishop Still availed himself, adapting it to the 
comedy by curtailments and a new verse with a personal allusion. 
There are many instances of a similar use being made of popular 
ballads by the old dramatists. How far this conjecture is justifiable, 
must be determined by a comparison between the above version and 
that given by Mr. Dyce, which is here subjoined in the orthography of 
the original. 

backe & syde goo bare goo bare 

bothe hande & fote goo colde 

but belly god sende the good ale inowghe 

whether hyt be newe or olde. 

but yf that I may have trwly 

good ale my belly full 

I shall Iookc lyke one by swete sainte Johnn 

were shoron agaynste the woole 

thowte I goo bare take you no care 

I am nothing colde 

I stufl'e my skynne so full within 

of joly goode ale & olde. 

I cannot eate but lytyll meate 

my stomacke ys not goode 

but sure I thyncke that I cowd dryncke 

with hym that werythe an hoode 

dryncke is my lyfe althovvghe my wyfe 

some tyme do chyde & scolde 

yet spare I not to plye the potte 

of joly goode ale & olde. 

backe & syde, &c. 



JOHN STILL. 35 

But sure T think, that I can drink 

With him that wears a hood. 
Though I go bare, take ye no care, 

I am nothing a cold , 
I stuff my skin so full within, 

Of jolly good ale and old. 



I love noo roste but a browne toste 

or a crabbe in the fyer 

a lytyll breade shall do me steade 

mooche breade I neuer desyer 

nor froste nor snowe nor wynde I trow 

canne hurte me yf hyt wolde 

I am so wrapped within & lapped 

with joly goode ale & olde. 

backe & syde, &c. 

I care ryte nowghte I take no thowte 

for clothes to kepe me warme 

have I goode dry nek e I surely thyncke 

nothynge canne do me harme 

for trwly than I feare noman 

be he neuer so bolde 

when I am armed and throwly warmed 

with joly goode ale & old. 

backe & syde, &c. 

but nowe & than I curse & banne 

they make ther ale so small 

god geve them care and evill to faare 

they strye the malte and all 

sooche pevisshe pevve I tell yowe trwe 

not for a c[r]ovne of golde 

ther commethe one syppe within my lyppe 

whether hyt be newe or olde. 

backe & syde, &c. 

good ale & stronge makethe me amonge 

full joconde & full lyte 

that ofte I slepe & take no kepe 

from mornynge vntyll nyte 

then st arte I vppe & lie to the cuppe 

the ryte waye on I holde 

my thurste to staunche I fyll my paynche 

with joly goode ale & olde. 

backe & syde, &c. 

and kytte my wife that as her lyfe 
lovethe well goode ale to seke 



36 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Back and side go bare, go bare, 
Both foot and hand go cold : 

But belly, God send thee good ale enough, 
Whether it be new or old. 

I love no roast, but a nut-brown toast, 

And a crab laid in the fire, 
A little bread shall do me stead, 

Much bread I not desire. 
No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow, 

Can hurt me if I wold, 
I am so wrapt, and throwly* lapt, 

Of jolly good ale and old. 

Back and side go bare, &c. 

And Tyb my wife, that as her life 

Loveth well good ale to seek, 
Full oft drinks she, till ye may see 

The tears run down her cheeks ; 
Then doth she trowl to me the bowl, 

Even as a malt worm should; 
And saith, sweetheart, I took my part 

Of this jolly good ale and old. 

Back and side go bare, &c. 



full ofte drynkythe she that ye maye se 

the tears ronne downe her cheke 

then doth she troule to me the bolle 

as a goode malte worme sholde 

& saye swete harte I have take my parte 

of joly goode ale & olde. 

backe & syde, &c. 

they that do dryncke tyll they nodde & wyncke 

even as goode fellowes shulde do 

they shall notte mysse to have the blysse 

that goode ale hathe browghte them to 

& all poore soules that skowre blacke bolle3 

& them hathe lustely trovvlde 

god save the ly ves of them & ther wyvea 

wether they be yonge or olde. 

backe & syde, &c. 

* Thoroughly. 



JOHN BEDFORD. 37 

Now let them drink, till they nod and wink, 

Even as good fellows should do, 
They shall not miss to have the bliss 

Good ale doth bring men to : 
And all poor souls that have scoured bowls, 

Or have them lustily trowled, 
God save the lives of them and their wives, 

Whether they be young or old. 

Back and side go bare, &c. 



JOHN EEDFOED. 

15- • 

[John B-edfobd was a contemporary of John Heywood's, a 
fact sufficiently shown by the MS. of Wit and Science, 
already referred to, which Mr. Halliwell thinks is probably 
contemporary with the author, and which includes several 
songs by Heywood. Of John Bedford nothing more is 
known than is disclosed by the MS., which contains the 
moral play of Wit and Science, and a few lines of two other 
interludes by the same author. Mr. Collier conjectures that 
Bedford was a professor of music, perhaps employed at court. 
Wit and Science, which is after the manner of Heywood's 
interludes, must have been written sometime in the reign of 
Henry VIII., probably towards its close. The characters, 
like those in Heywood's pieces, are pure abstractions, and 
their conversation throughout consists of the same sort of 
dreary discussion, mottled over with the species of word- 
catching in vogue at that period. ' The dialogue/ says Mr. 
Halliwell, ' is not in some respects without humour, but the 
poetry is too contemptible to be patiently endured.' 

The song is curious as an illustration of the manner of 
these interludes. It is supposed to be sung by a character 
called Honest Recreation, coming in to the help of Wit, 
who has been overthrown in a contest with Tediousness, and 
who, according to the stage directions, ' falleth down and 



38 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

dieth,' when he is recovered by Honest Recreation, with the 
assistance of his friends Comfort, Quickness, and Strength.'] 

THE PLAY OF WIT AND SCIENCE. 



SONG OF HONEST RECBEATION. 
I 

WHEN travels grete * in matters thick 
Have dulled your wits and made them sick, 
What medicine, then, your wits to quick, 
If ye will know, the best physic, 
Is to give place to Honest Recreation : 
Give place, we say now, for thy consolation. 

2 

"Where is that Wit that we seek than? 

Alas ! he lyeth here pale and wan : 

Help him at once now, if we can. 

O, Wit! how doest thou? Look up, man. 

O, Wit ! give place to Honest Recreation — 
Give place, we say now, tor thy consolation. 

3 

After place given let ear obey : 

Give an ear, O Wit! now we thee pray; 

Give ear to what we sing and say; 

Give an ear and help will come straightway : 

Give an ear to Honest Recreation ; 

Give an ear now, for thy consolation. 

4 

After ear given, now give an eye : 

Behold, thy friends about thee lie, 

Recreation I, and Comfort I, 

Quickness am I, and Strength here bye. 

Give an eye to Honest Recreation : 
Give an eye now, for thy consolation. 

* Become enlarged. 



THOMAS I^TGELEND. 



39 



5 

After an eye given, an hand give ye : 

Give an hand O Wit! feel that ye see; 

Recreation feel, feel Comfort free ; 

Feel Quickness here, feel Strength to thee. 

Give an hand to Honest Recreation: 
Give an hand now, for thy consolation. 

6 

Upon his feet, would God he were ! 

To raise him now we need not fear ; 

Stay you his hand, while we here bear : 

Now, all at once upright him rear. 

O Wit ! give place to Honest Recreation : 
Give place, we say now, for thy consolation. 



THOMAS INGELEND. 

15- • 

[All the information that has come down to us respecting 
Thomas Ingelend is to be found on the title-page of the 
interlude of the Disobedient Child, where he is designated 
as 'late student in Cambridge.' It is the only literary 
record by which he is known. The original edition has no 
date, but Mr. Halliwell, who edited a reprint of it for the 
Percy Society, thinks it was published about 1560. Mr. 
Collier remarks that the Disobedient Child is less like a 
moral play than most others of the same class, the introduc- 
tion of the Devil, in the usual manner, constituting its 
strongest resemblance to that species of dramatic represen- 
tation. In other points of view it approaches more nearly to 
the realization of the actual characters of every-day life than 
the dramatic allegories of Heywood. The persons of the 
drama, instead of representing abstract qualities, indicate 
certain social conditions and relations that are brought into 
direct collision by the story. Thus we have the Rich Man, 



40 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

and the Rich Mans Son, the Young Woman, whom the 
Rich Mans Son is determined to marry against the wishes of 
his father, the Priest who marries them, and the Devil who 
stirs up strife in their household. The titles of these 
characters reveal the plot, and the following illustrates the 
main incident, the resolution of the son to pursue his own 
inclinations in opposition to the will of his father — a hrave 
resolution, for which he pays dearly in the sequel. The 
Young Woman turns out a vken, and after she has beaten 
him and rendered him sufficiently miserable, he is glad to 
make his escape from her, and seek refuge in his father's 
house.] 

THE DISOBEDIENT CHILD. 



MY PANTASY WILL KXYEB TTJEN. 

SPITE of his spite,* which that in vain, 
Doth seek to force my fantasy, 
I am professed for loss or gain, 
To be thine own assuredly : 

Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, 
My fantasy will never turn ! 

Although my father of busy wit, 
Doth babble still, I care not though ; 
I have no fear, nor yet will flit, 
As doth the water to and fro ; 
Wherefore, &c. 

For I am set and will not swerve, 
Whom spiteful speech removeth nought; 
And since that I thy grace deserve, 
I count it is not dearly bought; 
Wherefore, &c. 



* Anger. 
And that which spites me more than all these wants.' 

Shakespeare. 



THOMAS INGELEND. 41 

Who is afraid, let you him fly, 
For I shall well abide the brunt: 
Maugre to his lips that listeth to lie, 
Oi busy brains as is the wont; 
Wherefore, &c. 

Who listeth thereat to laugh or lour,* 
I am not he that aught doth reach; 
There is no pain that hath the power, 
Out of my breast your love to fetch; 
Wherefore, tfcc. 

For whereas he moved me to the school, 
And only to follow my book and learning : 
He could never make me such a fool, 
With all his soft words and fair speaking ; 
Wherefore, &c. 

This minion here, this mincing trull,f 
Doth please me more a thousand fold, 
Than all the earth that is so full 
Of precious stones, silver and gold; 
Wherefore, &c. 

Whatsoever I did it was for her sake, 
It was for her love and only pleasure ; 
I count it no labour such labour to take, 
In getting to me so high a treasure. 
Wherefore, &c. 

This day I intended for to be merry, 
Although my hard father be far hence, 
I know no cause for to be heavy, 
For all this cost and great expense. 
Wherefore, &c. 



* To look sad. 
t Not a term of reproach.— Cf. i liavnj VI.— Halliwell. 



42 SONGS FJIOM THE DRAMATISTS. 

ANTHONY MUNDAY. 

i553-i 6 33- 
[Anthony Munday, son of Christopher Munday, draper of 
London, was born in 1533, and losing his father at an early- 
age, attempted the stage as an actor. It may be presumed 
that the experiment failed, as he afterwards apprenticed him- 
self, in 1576, to one Allde, a stationer. Wearying of this 
occupation, or abandoning it for some other reason, he 
travelled into France and Italy, returning to England in or 
about 1579, and again trying the stage, in a species of extem- 
poraneous entertainment, which Mr. Collier conjectures to 
have been similar to the Commedie al improviso of the 
Italians. According to a contemporary authority, the attempt 
was unsuccessful. He appears at this time to have entered 
the service of the Earl of Oxford, as one of his players, and 
to have been concerned as an evidence against the Roman 
Catholic priests who were executed at Tyburn in 1581. Not 
long afterwards he was appointed one of the messengers of 
her majesty's chamber, an office which he probably held till 
his death in 1633. 

Munday was a prolific writer, and embraced in the wide 
circuit of his literary labours a remarkable variety of subjects. 
Mr. Collier has collected the titles of forty- seven works in 
which he was concerned as author, translator, or editor, 
including poems, tracts, histories, dramas, and pageants. 
Independently of plays of which he was the sole author, he 
wrote several in conjunction with Chettle, Wilson, Drayton, 
Dekker, Middleton, and others ; was amongst the cluster of 
writers in Henslowe's pay, and one of the earliest contributors 
to the stage, in the period immediately preceding the era of 
Shakespeare. 

The play from which the following songs are taken was 
discovered in MS. by Sir Frederic Madden, amongst the 
papers of the Mostyn family, and printed in 1851 by the 
Shakespeare Society, with an elaborate introduction by Mr. 



ANTHONY MUNDAY. 43 

Collier, rendered still more valuable by the addition of three 
of Munday's tracts against the Jesuits. The title of the 
MS. is The Booh of John a Kent and John a Cumber. The 
structure of the piece fully bears out the character given by 
Meres of Munday as being the ' best plotter.' The action is 
ingeniously contrived ; and, without having recourse to arti- 
ficial expedients, the interest of the story is skilfully sus- 
tained.] 



JOHN A KENT AND JOHN A CUMBER. 



WANTON LOVE. 

TT7HEN wanton love had walked astray, 

* * Then good regard began to chide, 
And meeting her upon the way, 

Says, wanton lass, thou must abide; 
For I have seen in many years 
That sudden love breeds sullen fears. 

Shall I never, while I live, keep my girl at school ! 
She hath wandered to and fro, 
Further than a maid should go : 

Shall she never, while she lives, make me more a fool. 



LOVE IN PEEPLEXITY. 

TNa silent shade, as I sat a sunning, 
-*- There I heard a maid grievously complain; 
Many moans she said, amongst her sighs still coming; 
All was* 

Then her aged father counselled her the rather 
To consent where he had placed his mind ; 

But her peevish mother brought her to another, 
Though it was against both course and kind. 



* The passage is thus given in the original. 



44 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Then like a father will I come to check nry filly 
For her gadding forth without my leave ; 

And if she repent it, I am well contented 
Home again my darling to receive. 

SUNDEEED LOVE. 

YOU that seek to sunder love, 
Learn a lesson ere you go 
And as others pains do prove, 

So abide yourselves like woe. 
For I find, and you shall feel 
Self same turn of Fortune's wheel : 
Then if wrong be [so] repaid, 
Say deserved amends it made. 

THE THEFT. 

"\70TI stole my love; fy upon you, fy! 
■J- You stole my love, fy. fy a ; 
Guessed you but what a pain it is to prove. 
You for your love would die a; 
And henceforth never longer 
Be such a crafty wronger : 
But when deceit takes such a fall, 
Then farewell sly device and all. 
You stole my love ; fy upon you, fy ! 
You stole my love, fy, fy a. 



LEWIS WAGES. 

15- . 

[The Life and Repentance of Mary Magdalen is one of the 
numerous plays of this period founded on scriptural subjects. 
It appears from a passage in the prologue, noticed by Mr. 
Collier, to have been acted by itinerant players at country 
fairs, the spectators bestowing ' half-pence or pence' as they 



LEWIS WAGER. 4 J 

thought fit, upon the performers. Another passage alludes 
to its having been represented at the University. The play- 
was printed in 1567, and the author is described on the 
title-page as ' the learned clarke Lewis Wager.'] 



THE LIFE AND REPENTANCE OE MARY MAGDALEN. 



MISTEESS MAEY. 

HEY dery dery, with a lusty dery, 
Hoigh Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry. 

Your pretty person we may compare to Lais, 
A morsel for princes and nobler kings ; 
In beauty you excel the fair lady Thais ; 
You exceed the beautiful Helen in all tilings.* 
To behold your face who can be weary? 

Hoigh my Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry. 

The hair of your head shineth as the pure gold, 
Your eyes as glass, and right amiable ; 
Your smiling countenance, so lovely to behold, 
To us all is most pleasant and delectable; 
Of your commendations who can be weary? 

Hussa, my Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry. 

Your lips are ruddy as the reddy rose, 

Yovjr teeth as white as ever was the whale's bones; 



* The love songs of the period are crowded with similar compli 
mentary comparisons. In an interlude called The Trial of Treasure, 
bearing the same date of i567, there is a song in praise of the Lady 
Treasure, containing a verse identical in substance with the above : — 
Helene may not compared be, 

Nor Cressida that was so bright ; 
These cannot stain the shine of thee, 

Nor yet Minerva of great might. 
Thou passest Venus far away, 

Lady, Lady ! 
Love thee I will both night and day, 
My dear Lady ! 

THE DEAMATISTS. 4 



46 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

So clear, so sweet, so fair, so good, so fresh, so gay, 
In all Jurie truly at this day there is none. 
With a lusty voice sing we dery dery, 

Hussa, Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry. 



WILLIAM WAGEK. 

15- • 

[The date of the only piece that bears the name of this 
writer, probably a relation of the preceding, is omitted from 
the title-page of the original edition. But it evidently belongs 
to the early part of the reign of Elizabeth. The snatches 
that follow are sung by Moros, the fool, and are ' foots' of 
songs, or burthens of well-known ballads, some of which are 
of a much earlier date than the play itself.] 

THE LONGER THOU LIVEST THE MORE FOOL THOU ART. 



FOOTS OF SONGS. 



BROOM, Broom on hill, 
The gentle Broom on hill, hill; 
Broom, Broom on Hive hill, 
The gentle Broom on Hive hill, 
The Broom stands on Hive hill a.* 



Robin, lend me thy bow, thy bow, 

Robin the bow, Robin lend to me thy bow a. 



There was a maid came out of Kent, 
Dainty love, dainty love ; 

There was a maid came out of Kent, 
Dangerous be [she]. 



* Mr. Collier observes that this is one of the ballads in Cox's 
collection, and that it is also mentioned by Laneham. 



WILLIAM WAGER. 47 

There was a maid came out of Kent, 
Fair, proper, small and gent, 
As ever upon the ground went, 
For so it should be. 



By a bank as I lay, I lay, 
Musing on things past, hey how.* 



Tom a Lin and his wife, and his wife's mother, 
They went over a bridge all three together; 
The bridge was broken and they fell in — 
The devil go with all, quoth Tom a Lin.t 



Martin Swart and his man, sodle-dum, sodle-dum, 
Martin Swart and his man, sodle-dum bell. J 



Come over the boorne, Besse, 

My pretty little Besse, 

Come over the boorne, Besse, to me.§ 



The white dove set on the castle wall, 

I bend my bow, and shoot her I shall; 

I put her in my glove, both feathers and all. 

* Another of Cox's ballads, also mentioned by Laneham. 
t There is a popular old Irish song, in which the adventures of 
O'Lynn are carried through several verses. In the Irish version the 
name of the humorous hero is Bryan O'Lynn. That it was either the 
same song, or founded on the same original as the above, will br 
obvious from the following verse : — 

Bryan O'Lynn his wife and wife's mother, 
They all went over a bridge together, 
The bridge it broke and they all fell in, 
The devil go with you, says Bryan O'Lynn. 
t This song, says Mr. Collier, is unquestionably as old as Henry 
VTI. Martin Swart was sent over in i486, by the Duchess of 
Burgundy, to assist in the insurrection headed by Lord Lovell. 

§ The Bessy of the song was Queen Elizabeth. Mr. Collier quotes 
a fragment of a dialogue between England and the Queen, on her 
coming to the throne, which opens in the same way. It is also one 
of the ballads of which a scrap is to be found in Shakespeare, sung by 
Edgar in King Lear. The form is common to many popular ditties, 
and appears to have suggested one of Moore's early songs. 

4—2 



48 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

I laid my bridle upon the shelf, 

If you will any niore, sing it yourself. 



I have twenty more songs yet, 

A fond woman to my mother, 

As I were wont in her lap to sit, 

She taught me these, and many other. 

I can sing a song of ' Robin Redbreast,' 

And f My little pretty Nightingale,' 
'There dwelleth a jolly Foster* here by the West,' 
Also, ' I come to drink some of your Christmas ale. 

When I walk by myself alone, 

It doth me good my songs to render. 



IHAYE a pretty titmouse 
Come pecking on my toe. 
Gossip with you I purpose 
To drink before I go. 
Little pretty nightingale, 
Among the branches green. 
Give us of your Christmas ale, 
In the honour of Saint Stephen. 
Robin Redbreast with his notes 
Singing aloft in the quire, 
Warneth to get you frieze coats, 
For Winter then draweth near. 
My bridle lieth on the shelf, 
If you will have any more, 
Vouchsafe to sing it yourself, 
For here you have all my store. 



Forester. 



49 



JOHN LYLY. 

1553 • 

[John Lylt, or Lilly, the Euphuist, was born in the Weald 
of Kent, according to Wood, in 1553, but Oldys is inclined 
to think some years earlier. He was a student of Magdalen 
College, Oxford, where he took his degrees, and afterwards re- 
moved to Cambridge. We next find him at court, where, says 
his first editor, he was thought an excellent poet, and was 
'heard, graced, and rewarded' by the Queen. The reward, 
if any, came slowly; for after several years of attendance, 
expecting and soliciting the appointment of Master of the 
Eevels, he was forced to apply to her Majesty at last 'for 
some little grant to support him in his old age.' Of the 
time or manner of his death nothing is known. He was 
alive in 1597. Few men attained, for a short period, so 
brilliant a reputation. His Anatomy of Wit and Euphues, 
and his England, taught a new English to the court and 
the country, and this language of tropes and puerilities 
became the reigning fashion. 'All our ladies were his 
scholars,' says Sir Henry Blount; 'and that beauty at court who 
could not parley Euphuism, that is to say, who was unable 
to converse in that pure and reformed English, which he had 
formed his work to be the standard of, was as little regarded 
as she who now there speaks not French.' This was written 
in the reign of Charles I., when the effect of the ' pure and 
reformed English' may be presumed to have been obliterated 
by the interposition of the Scotch dialect, and a more learned 
taste under James I. Lyly's 'reformed English,' says 
Drayton, consisted in 

Talking of stones, stars, plants, of fishes, flies, 
Playing with words and idle similies. 

Lyly wrote nine plays, which were very successful, and in 
which his fantastical refinements — especially in his songs, 
which possess considerable grace and delicacy — appear to 
much greater advantage than in his prose treatises. The 



50 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

dates of the original editions are attached to each of the 
plays from which the following selections have been made.] 



ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE. 1584. 



CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 

/^TJPID and my Campaspe played 

^ At cards for kisses — Cupid paid; 

He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 

His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), 

With these, the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple of his chin ; 

All these did my Campaspe win. 

At last he set her both his eyes, 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love! has she done this to thee 1 ? 

What shall, alas! become of me?* 

THE SONGS OP BIEDS. 

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail] 
O 'tis the ravished nightingale. 

' Ju g> J u g» J u g> J U S> tere < she cries > 
And still her woes at midnight rise. 
Brave prick song ! who is't now we hear? 
None but the lark so shrill and clear; 
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,t 
The morn not waking till she sings. 



* This exquisite little song is printed in Percy's Reliques. 
t Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 

Shakespeare. 

Ye birds 

That singing up to heaven's gate ascend. 

Mieton. 



JOHN LYLY. 51 

Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat, 
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note; 
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing, 
Cuckoo to welcome in the spring ! 
Cuckoo to welcome in the spring I* 

SAPPHO AND PHAON. 1584. 



VULCAN'S SONG. 

ll/TY shag-hair Cyclops, come, let's ply 
-"-*■ Our Lemnian hammers lustily. 

By my wife's sparrows, 

I swear these arrows, 

Shall singing fly 

Through many a wanton's eye. 

These headed are with golden blisses, 
These silver ones feathered with kisses; 

But this of lead 

Strikes a clown dead, 

When in a dance 

He falls in a trance, 
To see his black-brown lass not buss him, 
And then whines out for death to untruss him. 

COMPLAINT AGAINST LOVE. 

f\ CRUEL Love, on thee I lay 

^ My curse, which shall strike blind the day; 

Never may sleep with velvet hand 

Charm these eyes with sacred wand ; 

Thy jailors shall be hopes and fears, 

Thy prison mates groans, sighs, and tears, 

Thy play to wear out weary times, 

Fantastic passions, vows, and rhymes. 

* An imitation, or rather an alteration, of this song occurs. in the 
Sun's Darling. It will be found amongst the selections from Ford 
and Dekker. 



52 



SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



Thy bread be frowns, thy drink be gall, 

Such as when you Phaon call ; 

Thy sleep fond dreams, thy dreams long care. 

Hope, like thy fool at thy bed's head, 

Mock thee till madness strike thee dead, 

As Phaon thou dost me with thy proud eyes, 

In thee poor Sappho lives, for thee she dies. 



EN DY MI ON. 1 59 1. 



Watch. 



Watch. 

Pages. 
Const. 

Pages. 



Const. 
Omnes. 



A NIGHT CATCH. 

The Pages and the Constables. 
CTAND ! who goes there? 
^ We charge you appear 
'Pore our constable here, 
In the name of the man in the moon. 
To us billmen* relate, 
Why you stagger so late, 
And how you came drunk so soon. 
What are ye, scabs? 
The watch : 
This the constable. 
A patch. 

Knock 'em down unless they all stand; 
If any run away, 
'Tis the old watchman's play, 
To reach them a bill of his hand. 
O gentlemen, hold, 
Your gowns freeze with cold, 
And your rotten teeth dance in your head. 
Wine nothing shall cost ye; 
Nor huge fires to roast ye ; 
Then soberly let us be led. 
Come, my brown bills, we'll roar, 
Bounce loud at tavern door. 
And in the morning steal all to bed. 



* The watchmen were so called from the pole they carried with a 
blade at the top of it, resembling a bill or halbert. Davenant (1636) 
uses the term in his play of the Wits. 



JOHN LYLY. 53 



SONG OF THE FAIEIES. 

Omnes. T)INCH him, pinch him, black and blue, 
■*- Saucy mortals must not view 
What the queen of stars is doing, 
Nor pry into our fairy wooing, 
i Fairy. Pinch him blue — 

2 Fairy. And pinch him black — 

3 Fairy. Let him not lack 

Sharp nails to pinch him blue and red, 
Till sleep has rocked his addlehead. 

4 Fairy. For the trespass he hath done, 

Spots o'er all his flesh shall run. 
Kiss Endymion, kiss his eyes, 
Then to our midnight heidegyes.'* 

GALATHEA. 1592. 



CUPID BOUND 



OYES, O yes, if any maid 
Whom leering Cupid has betrayed 
To powers of spite, to eyes of scorn, 
And would in madness now see torn 
The boy in pieces, let her come 
Hither, and lay on him her doom. 

O yes, yes, has any lost 

A heart which many a sigh hath cost ? 

If any cozened of a tear 

Which as a pearl disdain does wear? 

Here stands the thief; let her but come 

Hither, and lay on him her doom. 

Is any one undone by fire, 
And turned to ashes by desire? 
Did ever any lady weep, 
Being cheated of her golden sleep 



* Sports, dances, pastimes. 



54 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Stolen "by sick thoughts ? — the pirate's found, 
And in her tears he shall be drowned. 
Read his indictment, let him hear 
What he's to trust to. Boy, give ear ! 

MIDAS. 1592. 



APOLLO S SONG OP DAPHNE. 

T\TY Daphne's hair is twisted gold, 
-L"- Bright stars a-piece her eyes do hold, 
My Daphne's brow enthrones the graces, 
My Daphne's beauty stains all faces, 
On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry, 
But Daphne's lip a sweeter berry ; 
Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt, 
And then no heavenlier warmth is felt ; 
My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres, 
My Daphne's music charms all ears ; 
Fond am I thus to sing her praise, 
These glories now are turned to bays. 

pan's song of sybinx. 

PAN'S Syrinx was a girl indeed, 
Though now she's turned into a reed ; 
From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come, 
A pipe that strikes Apollo dumb ; 
Nor flute, nor lute, nor git tern can 
So chant it as the pipe of Pan : 
Oross-gartered swains and dairy girls, 
With faces smug and round as pearls, 
When Pan's shrill pipe begins to play, 
With dancing wear out night and day; 
The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by, 
When Pan sounds up his minstrelsy; 
His minstrelsy, O base ! This quill, 
Which at my mouth with wind I fill, 
Puts me in mind, though her I miss, 
That still my Syrinx' lips I kiss. 



JOHN LYLY. 05 



SONG TO APOLLO. 

SING to Apollo, god of day, 
Whose golden beams with morning play, 
And make her eyes so brightly shine, 
Aurora's face is called divine. 
Sing to Phoebus and that throne 
Of diamonds which he sets upon. 
Io Paeans let us sing 
To Physic and to Poesy's king. 

Crown all his altars with bright fire, 
Laurels bind about his lyre, 
A Daphnean coronet for his head, 
The Muses dance about his bed ; 
When on his ravishing lute he plays, 
Strew his temple round with bays. 
Io Pseans let us sing 
To the glittering Delian king. 



MOTHER BOMBIE. 1598. 



BACCHANALIAN SONG. 

TO Bacchus! To thy table 

J- Thou callest every drunken rabble ; 

We already are stiff drinkers, 

Then seal us for thy jolly skinkers.* 

Wine, O wine ! 

O juice divine ! 
How dost thou the nowlet refine. 
Plump thou makest mens ruby faces, 
And from girls can fetch embraces. 
By thee our noses swell 
With sparkling carbuncle. 



* Tapster, drawer. From skink, to draw liquor, to drink. 
t The noddle, or head — used here to imply the brain. 



56 SONGS FSOM THE DRAMATISTS, 

O the dear blood of grapes 
Turns us to antic shapes, 
Now to show tricks like apes, 
Now lion-like to roar, 
Now goatishly to whore, 
Now hoggishly in the mire, 
Now flinging hats in the fire. 
Io Bacchus ! at thy table, 
Make us 01 thy reeling rabble. 

CUPID. 

CUPID ! monarch over kings, 
Wherefore hast thou feet and wings ? 
Is it to show how swift thou art, 
When thou woundest a tender heart? 
Thy wings being clipped, and feet held still, 
Thy bow so many could not kill. 

It is all one in Venus' wanton school, 
Who highest sits, the wise man or the fool. 
Fools in love's college 
Have far more knowledge 
To read a woman over, 
Than a neat prating lover : 
Nay, 'tis confessed, 
That fools please women best. 



GEOEGE PEELE. 

155- I59-- 
[Geobge Peele was a native of Devonshire. His name 
appears in the Matriculation Book of Oxford as a member of 
Broadgates Hall (now Pembroke College) in 1564, and Mr. 
Dyce, assuming him to have been at least twelve or thirteen 
when he was entered, places his birth about 1552 or 1553. 
While he was at the University, Wood tells us that he was 



GEORGE PEELE. 57 

esteemed a most noted poet. In 1577 lie took his Bachelor's 
degree, and was made Master of Arts in 1579, after which he 
went up to London, and became a writer for the theatre. 
There is reason to believe that he appeared occasionally on the 
stage ; but he certainly did not follow it as a profession. His 
intimate associates were Nash, Marlowe, and Greene, the most 
profligate men of genius of the time : and in the latter part 
of his life he was acquainted with Shakespeare, Jonson, and 
their contemporaries, who were coming in at the close of his 
career. Peele appears to have abandoned himself to the 
worst excesses of the town, and to have shortened his life by 
dissipation, if a coarse allusion to him by Francis Meres may 
be credited. The date of his death is unknown; but as 
Meres' reference to it was printed in 1598, it must have taken 
place in or before that year. He was one of the earliest of 
our poets who imparted form and power to the drama, was 
one of the contributors to the Phoenix Nest, and, in addition 
to numerous small pieces and Pageants, wrote several plays, 
only five of which have come down to us. Of the remainder, 
few, probably, were printed, and these are supposed to have 
been destroyed in the fire of London in 1666. 

Peele holds a place amongst the dramatic poets of that 
period, described by Gifford as the time when ' the chaos of 
ignorance was breaking up,' second only to Marlowe. If his 
versification has not the pomp and grandeur of the ' mighty 
line,' of his great rival, it is sweeter and more melodious ; and 
none of his contemporaries exhibit so much tenderness or so 
luxuriant a fancy. Charles Lamb dismisses his David and 
Bethsabe as ' stuff;' but this hasty judgment is balanced by 
the panegyric of Campbell, who speaks of it as ' the earliest 
fountain of pathos and harmony that can be traced in our 
dramatic poetry.' What Hazlitt says of the literature of the 
time generally applies to Peele in common with the rest : ' I 
would not be understood to say, that the age of Elizabeth was 
all gold without any alloy. There was both gold and lead in 
it, and often in one and the same writer.' There are both in 
Peele ; but the gold was of the finest quality.] 



58 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE ARRAIGNMENT OF PARIS. 1584. 



.ENONE AND PARIS. 

J$n. "IT 1 AIR, and fair, and twice so fair, 
-*- As fair as any may be ; 

The fairest shepherd on our green, 
A love for any lady. 
Par. Fair and fair and twice so fair, 
As fair as any may be : 
Thy love is fair for thee alone, 
And for no other lady. 
JEn. My love is fair, my love is gay, 

As fresh as bin the flowers in May, 
And of my love my roundelay, 

My merry, merry, merry roundelay, 
Concludes with Cupid's curse, 

They that do change old love for new, 
Pray gods, they change for worse ! 
Ambo,simul. They that do change, &c. 
Mn. Fair and fair, &c. 
Par. Fair and fair, etc. 
jEn. My love can pipe, my love can sing, 
My love can many a pretty thing, 
And of his lovely praises ring 
My merry, merry roundelays, 

Amen to Cupid's curse, 
They that do change, &c. 

THE SONG OE THE ENAMOUEED SHEPHEED. 

GENTLE Love, ungentle for thy deed, 
Thou makest my heart 
A bloody mark 
With piercing shot to bleed. 
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss, 
For fear too keen 
Thy arrows been, 
And hit the heart where my beloved is. 



GEOKGE PEELE. 59 

Too fair that fortune were, nor never I 

Shall be so blest, 

Among the rest, 
That Love shall seize on her by sympathy. 
Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot, 

This doth remain 

To ease my pain, 
I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot. 



jenone's complaint. 

"]ITELPOMENE, the muse of tragic songs, 
jjJ_ With mournful tunes, in stole of dismal hue, 
Assist a silly nymph to wail her woe, 
And leave thy lusty company behind. 

Thou luckless wreath ! becomes not me to wear 
The poplar tree, for triumph of my love : 
Then as my joy, my pride of love, is left, 
Be thou unclothed of thy lovely green; 

And in thy leaves my fortunes written be, 
And them some gentle wind let blow abroad, 
That all the world may see how false of love 
False Paris hath to his ^Enone been. 



COLIN'S DIEGE. 

WELL AD AT, welladay, poor Colin, thou art going 
to the ground, 
The love whom Thestylis hath slain, 
Hard heart, fair face, fraught with disdain, 
Disdain in love a deadly wound. 

Wound her, sweet love, so deep again, 
That she may feel the dying pain 
Of this unhappy shepherd's swain, 
And die for love as Colin died, as Colin died. 



GO SONGS FHOJI THE DRAMATISTS. 

POLYHYMNIA.* 1590. 



THE AGED MAN-AT-AEMS. 

TTXS golden locks time hatli to silver turned; 
-"--*- time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing ! 
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, 

But spurned in vain ; youth waneth by encreasing. 
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen. 
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. 

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees, 
And lovers' songs be turned to holy psalms; 

A man at arms must now serve on his knees, 
And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms : 

But though from court to cottage he depart, 

His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. 

And when he saddest sits in homely cell, 
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song : 

' Blessed be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well, 
Cursed be the souls that think her any wrong.' 

Goddess, allow this aged man his right, 

To be your beadsman now that was your knight. 



* A description of a Triumph at Tilt, held before Queen Elizabeth 
in the Tilt Yard at Westminster in 1590. This very rare poem was 
reprinted by Sir. Dyce, in his edition of Peele's works, from a copy in 
the University of Edinburgh, amongst the books presented by 
Drumruond. The copy was slightly mutilated, but the deficiencies 
were supplied from a MS. found in an old house in Oxfordshire. 
The above song, or sonnet, taken from Polyhymnia, is extracted by 
Ellis, in his Specimens from Segur's Honour, Military and Civil (i5oj), 
and is also given by Beloe, from the Garriek collection in the British 
Museum. Mr. Dyce throws a doubt upon Beloa's veracity, by stating 
that he searched in vain for a copy of Polyhymnia in that collection ; 
but Beloe's version was evidently derived, notwithstanding, from the 
original work, and not from Segur's reprint, which exhibits several 
variations. 



GEORGE PEELE. 61 

THE HUNTING OF CUPID.* 159*. 



QUESTION AND ANSWEE. 

MELAMPUS, when will Love be void of fears? 
When Jealousy hath neither eyes nor ears. 
Melampus, when willLovebe thoroughly shrieved? 
When it is hard to speak, and not believed. 
Melampus, when is Love most malcontent? 
When lovers range, and bear their bows unbent. 
Melampus, tell me when Love takes least harm? 
When swains' sweet pipes are puffed, and trulls are 

warm. 
Melampus, tell me when is love best fed? 
When it has sucked the sweet that ease hath bred. 
Melampus, when is time in love ill spent? 
When it earns meed and yet receives no rent. 
Melampus, when is time well spent in Love? 
When deeds win meed, and words love works do prove. 

CUPID'S AEEOWS. 

AT Venus' entreaty for Cupid her son 
These arrows by Vulcan were cunningly done. 
The first is Love, as here you may behold, 
His feathers, head, and body, are of gold : 
The second shaft is Hate, a foe to love, 
And bitter are his torments for to prove : 
The third is Hope, from whence our comfort springs, 
His feathers [they] are pulled from Fortune's wings : 
Fourth Jealousy in basest minds doth dwell, 
This metal Vulcan's Cyclops sent from hell. 



* No copy of this work, apparently a sort of dramatic pastoral, is 
known to be in existence. These three songs, two of which are 
familiar to the readers of the Helicon and the Parnassus, and a scanty 
fragment of the dialogue, were preserved by Drummond .in his 
commonplace book, and have been included by Mr. Dyce in his 
edition of Peele's works. 

THE DEAMATISTS. ri 



62 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



LOYE. 

TTTHAT thing is love? — for sure love is a thing; 

* * Love is a prick, love is a sting, 
Love is a pretty, pretty thing; 
Love is a fire, love is a coal, 
Whose flame creeps in at every hole ; 
And, as myself can best devise, 
His dwelling is in ladies' eyes, 
From whence he shoots his dainty darts 
Into the lusty gallants' hearts : 

And ever since was called a god 

That Mars with Yenus played even and odd. 

THE OLD WIVES' TALE. 1595- 



THE MAID'S BESOLYE. 

TT7HEKA.S* the rye reach to the chin, 
" " And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within, 
Strawberries swimming in the cream, 
And schoolboys playing in the stream ; 
Then O, then O, then O, my true love said, 
'Till that time come again 
She could not live a maid ! 

CELAXTE AT THE WELL. 

GENTLY dip, but not too deep, 
For fear you make the golden beard to weep. 
[A head comes up with ears of corn, and 
she counts them in her lap. 

Fair maiden, white and red, 

Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, 

And thou shalt have some cockell-bread. 

Gently dip, but not too deep, 

For fear thou make the golden beard to weep. 

* When. 



ROBERT GREENE. 63 

Fair maid, white and red, 
Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, 
And every hair a sheaf shall be, 
And every sheaf a golden tree. 

[A head comes up full of gold, and 
she combs it into her lap. 

DAVID AND BETHSABE. 1599- 



BETHSABE BATHING. 



HOT sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air, 
Black shade, fair nurse, shadow my white hair : 
Shine, sun ; burn, fire ; breathe air, and ease me ; 
Black shade, fair nurse, shroud me, and please me : 
Shadow, my sweet nurse, keep me from burning, 
Make not my glad cause cause of mourning. 

Let not my beauty's fire 

Inflame unstayed desire, 

Nor pierce any bright eye 

That wandereth lightly. 



ROBERT GREENE. 

1560— 1592. 

[The bulk of Greene's dramatic works, like those of his friend 
Peele, perished in the fire of London, or mouldered into dust 
in the closets of the theatres. Only five of his plays have 
come down to us, and they contain but a single song. He 
shows no lyrical aptitude in his dramatic works; and, being 
compelled to write for subsistence, he had little leisure for 
cultivating any form of poetry he could not accomplish with 
ease and facility. Assuming him to be the author of this 
solitary song (the play in which it appears was written in 
conjunction with Lodge), it is an indifferent sample of his 
skill. He wrote better verses (and worse), and was capable 
occasionally of much beauty and neatness. Some of his best 

5—2 



64 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

short pieces will be found in England's 'Helicon. The song 
may, without much hesitation, be ascribed to Greene. It is 
scarcely worthy of Lodge, whose lyrics were generally of a 
higher and more imaginative cast. 

Eobert Greene was a native of Norwich, where he was 
born, according to different accounts, in 1560 or 1550. He 
was educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, and took his 
degrees of A.B. and A.M. in 1578 and 1583. In 1588 he 
was incorporated at Oxford. In the interval he travelled on 
the Continent, and is supposed to have described some of his 
adventures in his Groat's Worth of Wit and Never too Late. 
He is said to have taken orders, and there is no doubt he 
studied medicine ; but it is certain he followed neither pro- 
fession. Like Peele, he seems to have appeared occasionally 
on the stage, probably as an amateur in some of his own 
pieces. The confessions he published of his career trace 
a course of almost incredible depravity. Upon his return to 
England, he set up for a man about town, and plunged into 
the grossest vices of the metropolis. It was easier for a man 
of genius, who loved pleasure and hated restraint, to write 
plays and 'love pamphlets,' than to sit down to the sober 
labours of the pulpit or the hospital ; and Greene found in 
this occupation easy, although uncertain, means of living, and 
indulging his tastes. Somewhere in the country he married 
a lady of good family, and as soon as she had borne him a 
child, and he had expended her portion, he deserted her. The 
reason he assigns for this piece of turpitude is, that she was 
so virtuous as to endeavour to seduce him from his debauch- 
eries. He acknowledged that he acted as ill to his friends as 
to his wife, exhausting their good offices, and repaying 
them with ingratitude. The consequence was, that he sank 
at last into the lowest depths of penury and degradation, run- 
ning up scores at alehouses, living precariously by his pen, 
and forsaken by all acquaintances who were able to render 
him any service. The only associates he retained in his dis- 
sipation were Peele, Marlowe, and Nash, and these, as pro- 
fligate and unprincipled as himself, abandoned him in the 



ROBERT GREENE. 65 

end when he most needed their succour. The close of his life 
points a miserable moral. Having indulged in a surfeit of 
pickled herrings and Rhenish wine, he was seized with a 
mortal illness, and, being in the last extremity of distress, he 
must have perished for want of bare necessaries, but for the 
humanity of a poor shoemaker in Dowgate, at whose house 
he died in September, 1592, after lingering for a month in 
mental and bodily pain, deserted by his boon companions, and 
sustained by charity. The debt he contracted to this poor 
man he transferred on his deathbed to his wife, whom he had 
not seen for six years, imploring her to discharge it by an 
appeal to 'the love of their youth!' After his death, by his 
own request, his corpse was crowned with bays by the shoe- 
maker's wife. 

The deaths of his three intimate friends were no less 
wretched, as far as anything is known of them. Nash, it is 
said, became a penitent; but Peele hurried himself to the 
grave by dissipation, and Marlowe came by a violent death 
under peculiarly appalling circumstances. 

Greene's writings were very numerous, and, as might be 
expected, very unequal. A full account of them will be found 
in Mr. Dyce's careful and elaborate edition of his dramatic 
works, published in two volumes in 1831. Many of them 
obtained a wide and rapid popularity; and his prose writings, 
abounding in contemporary allusions, possess, even at the 
present time, considerable interest for the student curious in 
this kind of lore.] 



LOOKING GLASS FOR LONDON AND ENGLAND. 1 594. 



BEAUTY SUING FOE LOVE. 



BEAUTY, alas ! where wast thou born, 
Thus to hold thyself in scorn 1 
Whenas Beauty kissed to woo thee, 
Thou by Beauty dost undo me : 

Heigh-ho ! despise me not. 



66 SOXGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

I and thou in sooth are one, 

Fairer thou, I fairer none : 

Wanton thou, and wilt thou, "wanton, 

Yield a cruel heart to plant on? 

Do me right, and do me reason; 

Cruelty is cursed treason : 

Heigh-ho ! I love, heigh-ho ! I love, 
Heigh-ho ! and yet he eyes me not. 

SA3IELA.* 

LIKE to Diana in her summer weed, 
Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, 

Goes fair Samela; 
Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, 
When washed by Arethusa faint they lie, 

Is fair Samela; 
As fair Aurora in her morning grey, 
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, 

Is fair Samela; 
Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, 
Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, 

Shines fair Samela ; 
Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, 
Her teeth are pearl,t the breasts are ivory 

Of fair Samela ; 
Her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams, 
Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony ; 

Thus fair Samela 



* This charming song, which, in its structure, will remind the reader 
of one of Tennyson's popular lyrics, is taken from Greene's poems, 
of which I should have gladly availed myself more extensively if thu 
plan of this volume permitted. 

f This favourite image is wrought into a delicate and fantastical 
conceit in a song in the Fatal Contract, a play by William Heminge, 
the son of Heminge, the actor : 

' Who notes her teeth and lips, discloses 

Walls of pearl and gates of roses ; 

Two-leaved doors that lead the way 

Through her breath to Araby, 

To winch, would Cupid grant that bliss, 

Pd go a pilgrimage to kiss! 



THOMAS NASH. 

Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, 
And Juno in the shew of majesty, 

For she's Samela : 
Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view, 
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity 

Yield to Samela. 



THOMAS NASH. 

1564 — 1601. 

[Thomas Nash was born at Lowestoff, in Suffolk, and 
educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, where he took his 
degrees of A.B. and A.M. in 1585 and 1587. The date of his 
birth is not known, but it has been computed, from circum- 
stances, to have been 1564, the same year in which Shake- 
speare was born. His London life is sufficiently indicated 
in the notice already given of Peele and Greene. If he did not 
transcend the latter in profligacy, he underwent greater vicissi- 
tudes of distress and suffering, arising in part from the impe- 
tuosity of his temperament, which committed him to the most 
reckless excesses, and partly from his satirical propensities, 
which made him many enemies. On one occasion he was 
imprisoned for having written a play called the Isle of Dogs, 
and was several times confined in gaol in London. The prin- 
cipal incidents in his literary career are his famous paper- war 
with Gabriel Harvey, conducted on both sides with savage 
scurrility; and his controversy with Martin Marprelate, in 
which he espoused the cause of the church. He obtained an 
unenviable notoriety by the licentiousness and fierceness of 
his invectives ; and the tract in which he scourges his oppo- 
nent, Save with you to Saffron Walden (the name of Har- 
vey's residence), ran through no less than six editions. Not- 
withstanding the coarseness and violence of his controversial 
pamphlets, and the scoffing bitterness of his Pierce Penniless, 
he had the power of writing with grace and energy when he 



68 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

left the region of polemics to breathe the purer air of litera- 
ture. He wrote three plays : the tragedy of Dido (in con- 
junction with Marlowe), and two comedies, Summers Last 
Will and Testament, and the Isle of Dogs, the last never 
printed, and now lost. Towards the close of his life he re- 
canted his errors in a pamphlet called Christ's Tears over 
Jerusalem. He died about 1601.] 



summer's last will and testament. 1600. 



O PRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king ; 
^ Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, 
Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 

The palm and may make country houses gay, 
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, 
Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit, 
In every street these tunes our ears do greet, 
Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 
Spring, the sweet Spring. 

THE DECAY OP STJMMEE. 

FAIR summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore, 
So fair a summer look for never more : 
All good things vanish less than in a day, 
Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay. 

Go not yet away, blight soul of the sad year, 
The earth is hell when thou leavest to appear. 
What, shall those flowers that decked thy garland erst, 
Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed 1 ? 



THOMAS NASH. 



69 



trees consume your sap in sorrow's source, 
Streams turn to tears your tributary course. 

Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year. 

The earth is hell when thou leavest to appear. 

THE COMING OP WINTER. 

AUTUMN hath all the summer's fruitful treasure ; 
Gone is our sport, fled is our Croydon's pleasure ! 
Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace : 
Ah, who shall hide us from the winter's face 1 ? 
Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease, 
And here we lie, God knows, with little ease. 

From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, 
deliver us ! 

London doth mourn, Lambeth is quite forlorn ! 
Trades cry, woe worth that ever they were born ! 
The want of term is town and city's harm ;* 
Close chambers we do want to keep us warm. 
Long banished must we live from our friends : 
This low-built house will bring us to our ends. 

From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, 
deliver us ! 

APPROACHING DEATH. 

ADIEU; farewell earth's bliss, 
This world uncertain is : 
Fond are life's lustful joys, 
Death proves them all but toys. 
None from his darts can fly : 
I am sick, I must die. 

Lord have mercy on us ! 

Rich men trust not in wealth; 
Gold cannot buy you health; 



* This line fixes the date of the acting of the play in the Michaelmas 
Term of i598, when, in consequence of the plague, Michaelmas Term 
was held at St. Alhan's instead of in London. The date throws a 
light on the allusions in the song. 



70 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Physic himself must fade ; 
All things to end are made ; 
The plague full swift goes by; 
I am sick, I must die. 

Lord have mercy on us ! 

Beauty is but a flower, 
Which "wrinkles will devour : 
Brightness falls from the air; 
Queens have died young and fair; 
Dust hath closed Helen's eye ; 
I am sick, I must die. 

Lord have mercy on us ! 

Strength stoops unto the grave : 
"Worms feed on Hector brave. 
Swords may not fight with fate : 
Earth still holds ope her gate. 
Come, come the hells do cry; 
I am sick, I must die. 

Lord have mercy on us ! 

Wit with his wantonness, 
Tasteth death's bitterness. 
Hell's executioner 
Hath no ears for to hear 
What vain art can reply ; 
I am sick, I must die. 

Lord have mercy on us ! 

Haste therefore each degree 
To welcome destiny : 
Heaven is our heritage, 
Earth but a player's stage. 
Mount we unto the sky; 
I am sick, I must die. 

Lord have mercy on us ! 



71 

SAMUEL DANIEL. 

1562 — 1619. 

[Samuel Daniel, the son of a music master, was born near 
Taunton, in Somersetshire, in 1562, and educated at 
Magdalen College, Oxford. Leaving the University at the 
end of three years without taking a degree, he continued to 
prosecute his studies under the patronage of the Countess of 
Pembroke, sister of the accomplished Sidney, whose friend- 
ship procured for him the appointment of tutor to the Lady 
Anne Clifford, daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. His 
diligent application to literary pursuits enabled him to im- 
prove these favourable circumstances, and the reputation he 
acquired by the publication of some of his early poems, 
especially the Complaint of Rosamond (in which Mr. Malone 
imagines he has discovered the inspiration of Shakespeare's 
Venus and Adonis) recommended him to the favour of 
royalty. Thus encouraged, he became one of the volunteer 
laureates of Queen Elizabeth, and under King James obtained 
a place at court as gentleman extraordinary, and subsequently 
as one of the grooms of the privy chamber to the Queen 
Consort, who is said to have entertained a high opinion of 
his conversation and his writings. Eew poets have been 
more fortunate in their associations. Daniel enjoyed the 
friendship and respect of his most distinguished contem- 
poraries, and amongst those with whom he maintained an 
intimate intercourse were Camden, Draj^ton, Shakespeare, 
Jonson, Fulke Greville, Harrington and Spelman; even 
Gabriel Harvey paid tribute to his merits, and Spenser 
transmitted his character to after times in his Colin Clout's 
come home again. While he held his office at court 
(which imposed merely nominal duties upon him) he lived in 
a handsome garden-house in Old-street, St. Luke's;, but 
towards the latter part of his life, feeling that a race of 



72 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

greater poets had extinguished his early popularity, or, as 

he expresses it himself, that he had 

outlived the date 
Of former grace, acceptance, and delight, 

he retired to a farm in Somersetshire, where he died in 1619. 
In addition to his poems and plays, Daniel wrote a His- 
tory of England, which he carried down to the end of the 
reign of Edward III. His reputation as a poet rests chiefly 
on the ponderous cantos of the Civil Wars, a poem now 
little read, although it occupies a place of some mark in our 
literature. At the close of his career, when he was relin- 
quishing a Muse that no longer smiled upon his labours, he 
appears to have formed a very accurate estimate of the 
qualities to which he was indebted for his success : — 

And I, although among the latter train, 

And least of those that sung unto this land, 

Have borne my part, though in an humble strain, 

And pleased the gentler that did understand; 

And never had my harmless pen at all 

Distained with any loose immodesty, 

Nor ever noted to be touched with gall, 

To aggravate the worst man's infamy ; 

But still have done the fairest offices 

To virtue and the time. — Dedication of PMlotas. 

The great defect of his poetry is want of imagination, 
which his naturally languid constitution was unable to 
remedy by vigour or boldness of treatment. He always 
writes with good sense ; and his diction, which seldom rises 
above the level of prose, is generally pure and appropriate. 
But his narrative is lifeless and tedious, and fails to sus- 
tain the attention. He is more successful in his smaller 
pieces, where neatness and delicacy of expression make a 
distinct impression, and atone for the absence of higher 
qualities. It has been said by some of his critics that he 
anticipated the improvements of a more refined age, because 
he wrote with a perspicuity and directness not common 
amongst his contemporaries. But these merits are not in 
themselves sufficient to project a poet beyond his own time ; 
a truth strikingly illustrated in his case. He lived in an 



SAMUEL DANIEL. 



73 



age that produced the noblest examples of English poetry, 
and he has not survived it either in the closet or on the stage. 
His plays are planned strictly on the classical model, 
which he lacked the power to fill up. Deficient in the essen- 
tial of action, and didactic rather than dramatic, they are 
for the most part very flat and dreary. The tragedy of 
Cleopatra, his first play, from which the following piece is 
taken, may, perhaps, be considered the best of them.] 

CLEOPATRA. 1594- 



THE INFLUENCE OF OPINION. 

OPINION, how dost thou molest 
The affected mind of restless man? 

Who following thee never can, 

Nor ever shall attain to rest, 
For getting what thou sayst is best. 

Yet lo, that best he finds far wide 

Of what thou promisedst before : 

For in the same he looked for more, 

Which proves but small when once 'tis tried. 
Then something else thou findst beside, 

To draw him still from thought to thought : 

When in the end all proves but nought. 

Farther from rest he finds him then, 

Than at the first when he began. 

malcontent seducing guest, 
Contriver of our greatest woes : 
Which born of wind, and fed with shows, 
Dost nurse thyself in thy unrest ; 

Judging ungotten things the best, 
Or what thou in conceit designest ; 
And all things in the world dost deem, 
Not as they are, but as they seem ; 
Which shows their state thou ill definest : 

And livest to come, in present pinest. 



74 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

For what thou hast, thou still dost lack : 
O mind's tormentor, body's wrack, 
Yain promiser of that sweet rest, 
Which never any yet possessed. 

If we unto ambition tend, 

Then dost thou draw our weakness on, 

With vain imagination 

Of that which never had an end. 

Or if that lust we apprehend, 

How dost that pleasant plague infest] 
O what strange forms of luxury, 
Thou straight dost cast to entice us by? 
And tellest us that is ever best 

Which we have never yet possessed. 
And that more pleasure rests beside, 
In something that we have not tried. 
And when the same likewise is had, 
Then all is one, and all is bad. 

This Anthony can say is true, 
And Cleopatra knows 'tis so, 
By the experience of their woe. 
She can say, she never knew 

But that lust found pleasures new, 
And was never satisfied : 
He can say by proof of toil, 
Ambition is a vulture vile, 
That feeds upon the heart of pride, 

And finds no rest when all is tried. 
For worlds cannot confine the one, 
The other, lists and bounds hath none. 
And both subvert the mind, the state, 
Procure destruction, envy, hate. 

And now when all this is proved vain, 
Yet opinion leaves not here, 
But sticks to Cleopatra near, 
Persuading now, how she shall gain 

Honour by death, and fame attain; 



DABRIDGECOURT BELCHIER. 75 

And what a shame it were to live, 
Her kingdom lost, her lover dead : 
And so with this persuasion led, 
Despair doth such a courage give, 
That nought else can her mind relieve, 
Nor yet divert her from that thought : 
To this conclusion all is brought. 
This is that rest this vain world lends, 
To end in death that all things ends. 



DABRIDGECOURT BELCHIER. 

15 — 1621. 

[The author of Sans Beer-Pot's Invisible Comedy was a 
Northamptonshire gentleman, who, after completing his 
education at Cambridge and Oxford, settled at Utrecht, where 
he died in 1621. In his dedication to Sir John Ogle, 
governor of the town and garrison of Utrecht, he describes the 
play as being neither comedy nor tragedy, but a plain dialogue, 
or conference, between certain persons, consisting of three 
acts and no more. No division into acts, however, appears 
in the only edition of this curious piece that is known to 
exist. The title-page informs us that it was ' acted in the 
Low Countries by an honest company of health-drinkers,' 
and was printed in London in 161 8. Coxeter speaks of it as 
a translation [by inference from the Dutch] ; but it is dis- 
tinctly described in the dedication as an original production, 
that cost the author ' not above sixteen days' labour.' It is 
written with considerable humour, and displays such ease 
and mastery of versification as to occasion regret that he 
who possessed so quaint and fluent a vein should not have 
given his powers more ample employment.] 



76 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

HANS BEER-POT, HIS INVISIBLE COMEDY OF SEE ME 
AND SEE ME NOT. l6l8. 



THE CONFESSION. 



TTTALKING in a shady grove, 

* * Near silver streams fair gliding, 
Where trees in ranks did grace the banks, 
And nymphs had their abiding; 
Here as I stayed I saw a maid, 
A beauteous lovely creature, 
With angel's face and goddess grace, 
Of such exceeding feature. 

Her looks did so astonish me, 
And set my heart a-quaking, 
Like stag that gazed was I amazed, 
And in a stranger taking. 
Yet roused myself to see this elf, 
And lo a tree did hide me ; 
Where I unseen beheld this queen 
Awhile, ere she espied me. 

Her voice was sweet melodiously, 
She sung in perfect measure ; 
And thus she said with trickling tears ; 
1 Alas, my joy, my treasure, 
I'll be thy wife, or lose my life, 
There's no man else shall have me; 
If God so, I will say no, 
Although a thousand crave me. 

' Oh ! stay not long, but come, my dear, 
And knit our marriage knot ; 
Each hour a day, each month a year, 
Thou knowest, I think, God wot. 
Delay not then, like worldly maiden, 
Good works till withered age ; 
'Bove other things, the King of kings 
Blessed a lawful marriage. 



SIIAKESPEAKE. 77 

' Thou art my choice, I constant am, 

I mean to die unspotted ; 

With thee I'll live, for thee I love, 

And keep my name unblotted. 

A virtuous life in maid and wife, 

The Spirit of God commends it ; 

Accursed he for ever be, 

That seeks with shame to offend it.' 

With that she rose like nimble roe, 
The tender grass scarce bending,* 
And left me then perplexed with fear 
At this her sonnet's ending. 
I thought to move this dame of love, 
But she was gone already; 
Wherefore I pray that those that stay 
May find their loves as steady. 



SHAKESPEARE. 

1564 — 1616. 

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 

SILVIA. 

TTTHO is Silvia? What is she, 

* * That all our swains commend her? 
Holy, fair, and wise is she, 

The heavens such grace did lend her, 
That she might admired be. 



* Or like a nymph with long dishevelled hair 
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 

Shakespeare. — Venus and Adonis, 
As falcon to the lure, away she flies ; 
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light. — Ibid. 
A foot more light, a step more true, 
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew ; 
E'en the slight harebell raised its head, 
Elastic from her airy tread. 

Scott. — Lady of the Lake. 
THE DEAMATISTS. 6 



78 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Is she kind as she is fair? 

For beauty lives with kindness : 
Love doth to her eyes repair, 

To help him of his blindness ; 
And, being helped, inhabits there. 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 
That Silvia is excelling ; 

She excels each mortal thing, 
Upon the dull earth dwelling : 

To her let us garlands bring. 



LOVE S LABOUR LOST. 



WHITE AXD EED. 

TF she be made of white and red, 
-*- Her faults will ne'er be known ; 
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, 

And fears by pale-white shown; 
Then, if the fear, or be to blame, 

By this you shall not know; 
For still her cheeks possess the same, 

Which native she doth own.* 



THE STI'DEST EOESAKES HIS BOOKS EOE LOYE. 

IF love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to 
love? 
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed ! 
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove ; 
These thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers 
bowed. 
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, 
Where all those pleasures live that art would com- 
prehend ; 

* Own — possess. 



SHAKESPEARE. 79 

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice ; 

Well learned is that tongue that will ever thee 
commend : 
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder ; 

(Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire ;) 
Thine eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful 
thunder, 

Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. 
Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, 
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue! 

BEAUTY THROUGH TEAES. 

CO sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 

^ To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 

As thine eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows : 
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 

Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light : 

Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep; 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, 

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe : 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 

And they thy glory through my griof will show: 
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel ! 
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. 

THE DEFENCE OE PEEJUEY. 

"PVID not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 

U ('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,) 

Persuade my heart to this false perjury'? 

Yows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore ; but, I will prove, 

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 

6—2 



80 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 

Thy grace being gained, cures all disgrace in me. 
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, 
Exhalest this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 

If broken then, it is no fault of mine, 
If by me broke. What fool is not so wise, 
To lose an oath to win a paradise? 

EOESWOEN FOE LOYE. 

ON a day, (alack the day !) 
Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom, passing fair, 
Playing in the wanton air : 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, 'gan passage find; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
"Wished himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
Air, would 1 might triumph so! 
But, alack, my hand is sworn, 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
"Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; 
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me, 
That I am forsworn for thee : 
Thou for whom Jove would swear, 
Juno but an Ethiope were; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 

SPEING AND WLNTEB. 



WHEN daisies pied, and violets blue, 
And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, 

Do paint the meadows with delight, 



SHAKESPEARE. 81 

The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear ! 

2 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 

The cuckoo then, on every tree, 

Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
Cuckoo ; 

Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear ! 

3 

When icicles hang by the wall, 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 

And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
And milk comes frozen home in pail, 

When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, 

Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
To- who; 

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 

While greasy Joan doth keel* the pot. 

4 
When all around the wind doth blow, 

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
And birds sit brooding in the snow, 

And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who; 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

* Slum. 



82 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ONE GOOD WOMAN IN TEN. 



WAS this fair face the cause, quoth she, 
Why the Grecians sacked Troy? 
Fond done, done fond, 

Was this King Priam's joy? 
With that she sighed as she stood, 
With that she sighed as she stood, 

And gave this sentence then : 
Among nine bad if one be good, 
Among nine bad if one be good, 

There's yet one good in ten. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT S DREAM. 



SONG OF THE FAIKY. 



OYER hill, over dale, 
Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
I do wander everywhere, 
Swifter than the moon's sphere; 
And I serve the fairy queen, 
To dew her orbs* upon the green ; 
The cowslips tall her pensioners be; 
In their gold coats spots you see, 
These be rubies, fairy favours, 
In those freckles live their savours : 
I must go seek some dewdrops here, 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 



* The rings on the sward, dried up by the feet of the fairies in 
dancing their rounds. 



SIIAKESPEARE. 



TITAXIA IN THE WOOD. 



83 



YOU spotted snakes, with double tongue, 
Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen; 
Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong; 
Come no# near our fairy queen : 

Chorus. 

Philomel, with melody, 
Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby; 
Never harm, nor spell nor charm, 
Come our lonely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 



Weaving spiders, come not here : 

Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence ; 

Beetles black, approach not near; 
Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 

Chorus. 
Philomel, with melody, &c. 



THE woosel-cock,* so black of hue, 
With orange-tawny bill, 
The throstle with his note so true, 

The wren with little quill ; 
The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 

The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
Whose note full many a man doth mark, 
And dares not answer, nay. 



* The blackbird. 



84 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT — THE APPEOACH OP THE PAIEIES. 

IVTOW the hungry lion roars, 

-^ And the wolf behowls the moon ; 

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 

All with weary task fordone. 
Now the wasted brands do glow. 

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, 
Puts the wretch that lies in woe, 

In remembrance of a shroud. 
Now it is the time of night 

That the graves, all gaping wide, 
Everyone lets forth his sprite, 

In the churchway paths to glide : 
And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecate's team, 
From the presence of the sun, 

Following darkness like a dream, 
Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
Shall disturb this hallowed house : 
I am sent with broom before, 
To sweep the dust behind the door. 

Through the house give glimmering light, 

By the dead and drowsy fire; 
Every elf, and fairy sprite, 

Hop as light as bird from brier ; 
And this ditty after me, 
Sing, and dance it, trippingly. 
First, rehearse this song by rote ; 
To each word a warbling note, 
Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 
We will sing, and bless this place. 

Song. 

Now, until the break of day, 
Through this house each fairy stray. 



SHAKESPEARE. 

To the best bride-bed will we, 

Which by us shall blessed be ; 

And the issue there create 

Ever shall be fortunate.. 

So shall all the couples three 

Ever true in loving be ; 

And the blots of nature's hand 

Shall not in their issue stand; 

Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 

Nor mark prodigious, such as are 

Despised in nativity, 

Shall upon their children be. 

With this field-dew consecrate, 

Every fairy take his gait ; 

And each several chamber bless, 

Through this palace with sweet peace 

Ever shall in safety rest, 

And the owner of it blessed. 

Trip away; 

Make no stay : 
Meet me all by break of day. 

MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



8.5 



THE BIETH AND DEATH OF FANCY.* 

rPELL me where is fancy bred, 
J- Or in the heart, or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished? 
Eeply, reply. 

It is engendered in the eyes, 
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
Tn the cradle where it lies : 
Let us all ring fancy's knell ; 
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
Ding, dong, bell. 

* Fancy is constantly used by Shakespeare and his contemporaries 
in the sense of love. 



86 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



THE CHOICE. 

Gold. 

A LL that glisters is not gold, 
■£*■ Often have you heard that told; 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold ; 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
Your answer had not been inscrolled ; 
Fare you well; your suit is cold. 

Silver. 

The fire seven times tried this ; 
Seven times tried that judgment is 
That did never choose amiss : 
Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
Such have but a shadow's bliss; 
There be fools alive, I wis, 
Silvered o'er ; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to bed, 
I will ever be your head : 
So begone : you are sped. 

Lead. 

You that choose not by the view, 
Chance as fair, and choose as true ! 
Since this fortune falls to you, 
Be content, and seek no new. 
If you be well pleased with this, 
And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
Turn you where your lady is, 
And claim her with a loving kiss. 



SHAKESPEARE. 87 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



INCONSTANCY OF MEN'. 
I 

SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more ; 
Men were deceivers ever ; 
One foot in sea, and one on shore; 
To one thing constant never : 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go, 
And be you blithe and bonny; 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into, hey nonny, nonny. 

2 

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 
Of dumps so dull and heavy; 

The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer first was leavy, 

Then sigh not so, &c. 

hero's epitaph. 

DONE to death by slanderous tongues 
Was the Hero that here lies; 
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, 

Gives her fame which never dies : 
So the life that died with shame, 
Lives in death with glorious fame. 
Hang thou there upon the tomb, 
Praising her when I am dumb. 

HYMN AT THE TOMB. 

T)A.RDOISr, goddess of the night, 
-*- Those that slew thy virgin knight ; 
For the which, with songs of woe, 
Hound about her tomb they go. 



88 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Midnight, assist our moan; 
Help us to sigh and groan, 
Heavily, heavily : 
Graves yawn, and yield your dead, 
Till death be uttered, 
Heavenly, heavenly. 

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



SCOENFTTL EHTilE. 



F 



y Y on sinful fantasy ! 
Fy on lust and luxury ! 
Lust is but a bloody fire, 
Kindled with unchaste desire, 
Fed in heart ; whose flames aspire, 
As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 
Pinch him, fairies, mutually; 
Pinch him for his villainy ; 
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. 

TWELFTH NIGHT. 



SWEET-AXD-TWEXTY. 



MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming] 
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, 
That can sing both high and low : 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 
Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love 1 ? 'tis not hereafter; 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 

What's to come is still unsure : 
In delay there lies no plenty ; 
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth's a stuff will not endure. 



SHAKESPEARE. 89 

SLAIN BY LOVE. 

COME away, come away, death, 
And in sad cypress let me be laid; 
Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

0, prepare it; 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
On my black coffin let there be strown ; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there. 

THE CLOWN'S EXIT. 

I AM gone, Sir, 
And anon, Sir, 
I'll be with you again, 
In a trice, 

Like to the old Yice, 
Your need to sustain ; 

Who with dagger of lath, 
In his rage and his wrath, 

Cries, ah, ha ! to the devil : 
Like a mad lad, 
Pare thy nails, dad, 

Adieu, goodman drivel. 

THE EAIN IT BAINETH EVEET DAT. 

TT7HEN that I was and a little tiny boy, 
* * With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing was but a toy, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 



90 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

But when I came to man's estate, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

'Gainst knave and thief men shut their gate, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came, ala 4 ? ! to wive, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

By swaggering could I never thrive, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came unto my bed, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

With toss-pots still had drunken head, 
Eor the rain it raineth every day. 

A great while ago the world begun, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

But that's all one, our play is done, 

And we'll strive to please you every day.* 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



UNDEB THE GHEENWCOD TliT.H. 

UNDER the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And timet his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
Here shall we see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 



* The Fool in King Lear sings a snatch of a ballad with the same 
burthen : — 

4 He that has and a little tiny wit, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
Must make content with his fortunes fit, 
Though the rain it raineth every day.' 
t In some editions tarn. 



SHAKESPEARE. 9 1 

Who doth ambition shun, 
And loves to live in the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy, 
But winter and rough weather. 

If it do come to pass, 
That any man turn ass, 
Leaving his wealth and ease, 
A stubborn will to please, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; 
Here shall he see, 
Gross fools as he, 
An if he will come to me. 



INGRATITUDE. 

TDLOW, blow, thou winter wind, 

•*-* Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude; 

Thy tooth is not so keen, 

Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp,* 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remembered not. 
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! &c. 

* There was an old Saxon proverb, Winter slw.ll warp water. 



92 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



EOSALIND. 

T^ ROM the east to western Ind, 

■*- No jewel is like Rosalind. 

Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 

Through all the world bears Rosalind. 

All the pictures, fairest lined, 

Are but black to Rosalind. 

Let no face be kept in mind, 

But the fair* of Rosalind. 

If a hart do lack a hind, 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cat will after kind, 

So, be sure, will Rosalind. 

Winter garments must be lined, 

So must slender Rosalind. 

They that reap must sheaf and bind ; 

Then to cart with Rosalind. 

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 

Such a nut is Rosalind. 

He that sweetest rose will find, 

Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 

THE HOMILY OF LOVE. 

WHY should this desert silent be? 
For it is unpeopled? No; 
Tongues I'll hang on every tree, 

That shall civil sayings shew. 
Some, how brief the life of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage; 
That the stretching of a span 

Buckles in his sum of age. 
Some, of violated vows 

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: 
But upon the fairest boughs, 

Or at every sentence' end, 

* Used for fairness, or beauty. 



SHAKESPEARE. 93 

"Will I Rosalinda write : 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore heaven nature charged 

That one body should be filled 
With all graces wide enlarged : 

Nature presently distilled 
Helen's cheek, but not her heart; 

Cleopatra's majesty; 
Atalanta's better part ; 

Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devised; 
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 

To have the touches dearest prized. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should have, 
And I to live and die her slave. 



THE DEATH OF THE DEEE. 

WHAT shall he have that killed the deer? 
His leather skin, and horns to wear. 
Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ; 
It was a crest ere thou wast born. 

Thy father's father wore it; 
And thy father bore it : 
The horn, the hom, the lusty horn, 
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. 



THE MESSAGE OE HOPELESS LOVE. 

A RT thou god to shepherd turned, 
-£*- That a maiden's heart hath burned? 
Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
Warrest thou with a woman's heart? 
Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 
That could do no vengeance to me. 

THE LEAMATISTS. 7 



94 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

If the scorn of your bright eyne 
Have power to raise such love in mine, 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they work in mild aspect? 
Whiles you chid me, I did love; 
How then might your prayers move ? 
He that brings this love to thee, 
Little knows this love in me : 
And by him seal up thy mind ; 
Whether that by youth and kind 
Will the faithful offer take 
Of me, and all that I can make ; 
Or else by him my love deny, 
And then I'll study how to die. 



LOVERS LOVE THE SPEING. 

TT was a lover and his lass, 

-*- With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 

That o'er the green corn-field did pass 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
These pretty country folks would lie, 

In spring time, &c. 

This carol they began that hour, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 

How that a life was but a flower 
In spring time, &c. 

And therefore take the present time, 
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 

For love is crowned with the prime, 
In spring time, &a 



SHAKESPEARE. 95 



THE BETHOTHAL. 

THEN" is there mirth in heaven, 
When earthly things made even 
Atone together. 
Good duke, receive thy daughter, 
Hymen from heaven brought her, 

Yea, brought her hither ; 
That thou mightst join her hand with his, 
Whose heart within her bosom is. 



WEDLOCK. 

WEDDING is great Juno's crown; 
O blessed bond of board and bed ! 
'Tis Hymen peoples every town; 

High wedlock then be honoured : 
Honour, high honour and renown, 
To Hymen, god of every town ! 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



TAKE, OH! TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 

TAKE, oh ! take those lips away, 
That so sweetly were forsworn; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, 

Bring again. 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain, 

Sealed in vain.* 



* The music of this song was composed by 'Jack Wilson,' the 
singer, who belonged to the same company of players with Shake- 
speare, and whose name is given in a stage direction in Much Ado 
about Nothing, 4to, 1600. [See communication from Mr. Collier, 
Shakespeare Society Papers, ii. 33] Shakespeare's claim to the words 
is doubtful. The same song, with an additional stanza, appears in 
Beaumont and Fletcher's play of Hollo, Duke of Normandy, under 
which head they will be found in the present volume. Mr. Collier ob- 

1-2 



96 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



A WINTERS TALE. 



THE SWEET OF THE YEAB. 

TTTHEN daffodils begin to peer, 
* * With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, 
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; 
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, 
With heigh | the sweet birds, O, how they sing ! 

Doth set thy pngging* tooth on edge; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, 

With heigh ! with hey ! the thrush and the jay : 
Are summer songs for me and my aunts, 

While we lie tumbling in the hay. 

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? 

The pale moon shines by night : 
And when I wander here and there, 

I then do most go right. 

If tinkers may have leave to live, 

And bear the sow-skin bowget ; 
Then my account I well may give, 

And in the stocks avouch it. 



serves, on the other hand, that Doth stanzas are ascribed to Shake- 
speare in the edition of his poems printed in 8vo, 1540. But it should 
be observed also that the song is not given in the earlier edition by 
Juggard, and that the edition of 1640 is not conclusive authority. The 
best evidence in favour of Shakespeare's authorship is the general fact 
that, unlike most of the old dramatists, he never introduced into his 
plays (with the exception of scraps and foots of popular ballads) any 
songs by other writers. This is the only instance upon wnich a doubt 
can be raised. 

* Supposed to mean thieving, from the old word puggard, a thief. 
The close resemblance suggests the derivation from this word of the 
flash term prigging or proguing, which, however, is rejected by Dr. 
Nares. 



SHAKESPEARE. 97 



A MERRY HEART FOB THE ROAD. 

JOG on, jog on, the footpath way, 
And merrily hent* the sfcile-a : 
A merry heart goes all the day, 
Your sad tires in a mile-a. 



THE PEDLAR AT THE DOOR. 

LAWN, as white as driven snow; 
Cypress, black as e'er was crow; 
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses ; 
Masks for faces, and for noses; 
Bugle- bracelet, necklace-amber, 
Perfume for a lady's chamber : 
Golden quoifs and stomachers, 
For my lads to give their dears ; 
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,t 
What maids lack from head to heel : 

Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; 
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : 

Come, buy, &c. 



THE BALLAD OF TWO MAIDS WOOING- A MAN". 

A. f^ ET you hence, for I must go; 
^" Where it fits not you to know. 

D. Whither? M. O, whither? B. Whither? 
M. It becomes thy oath full well, 
Thou to me thy secrets tell : 
D. Me too, let me go thither. 
M. Or thou goest to the grange, or mill : 
D. If to either, thou dost ill. 

* To seize, to hold. 
f A small stick used for setting the plaits of ruffs. They were 
originally made of wood or bone, afterwards of steel that they might 
be ised hot. The steel poking-stick was introduced in the reign of 
Elizabeth. 



98 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. 
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be : 
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me : 

Then, whither goest? Say, whither? 

THE PEDLAR'S PACK. 

TXTILL you buy any tape, 
* ' Or lace for your cape, 
My dainty duck, my dear-a? 
Any silk, any thread, 
Any toys for your head, 
. Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? 
Come to the pedlar ; 
Money's a medler, 
That doth utter all men's ware-a. 

THE TEMPEST. 



MUSIC IN THE AIE. 

COME unto these yellow sands, 
And then take hands : 
Courtesied when you have, and kissed, 

The wild waves whist, 
Foot it featly here and there; 
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
Hark, hark! 

Bowgh, wowgh. 
The watch-dogs bark : 

Bowgh, wowgh. 
Hark, hark ! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. 

THE DEOWNED PATHEE. 

FULL fathom five thy father lies : 
Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
Nothing of him that doth fade, 



SHAKESPEARE. 99 

But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange, 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark ! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.* 



THE WAENING. 

WHILE you here do snoring lie, 
Open-eyed Conspiracy 
His time doth take ; 
If of life you keep a care, 
Shake off slumber, and beware : 
Awake! awake! 



A SAILOE'S AVERSION. 

THE master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
The gunner and his mate, 
Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
But none of us cared for Kate ; 
For she had a tongue with a tang, 
Would cry to a sailor, ' Go hang ;' 
She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch, 
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch 
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 

THE BLESSING OE JUNO AND CEEES. 

HONOUR, riches, marriage-blessing, 
Long continuance, and encreasing, 
Hourly joys be still upon you! 
Juno sings her blessings on you. 

Earth's increase, and foisont plenty, 
Barns and garners never empty; 
Vines with clustering bunches growing; 
Plants with goodly burthen bowing; 



• Set to music by Robert Johnson, 1612. t Abundance. 



100 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Spring come to you, at the farthest, 
In the very end of harvest ! 
Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
Ceres' blessing so is on you. 



ABIEE SET PEEE. 

TT7HEE.E the bee sucks, there suck I ; 

* * In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
There I couch when owls do cry; 
On the bat's back I do fly 
After summer merrily : 
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.* 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



BE MEEEY, BE MEEET. 

T\0 nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 
U And praise Heaven for the merry year ; 
When flesh is cheap and females dear, 
And lusty lads roam here and there, 
So merrily, 
And ever among so merrily. 

Be merry, be merry, my wife has all, 
For women are shrews, both short and tall; 
'Tis merry in hall when beards wag all, 
And welcome merry shrove-tide. 

Be merry, be merry, <fec. 

A cup of wine that's brisk and fine, 
And drink unto the leman mine ; 

And a merry heart lives long-a. 
Fill the cup, and let it come, 
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom. 

* Robert Johnson also composed the music of this song. 



SHAKESPEARE. 



KING HENRY V. 



101 



FBAGMENTS OP BALLADS. 
I 

KNOCKS go and come 
To ail and some 
God's vassals feel the same, 
And sword and shield 
In bloody field 
Do win immortal fame. 

2 

If wishes would prevail with me, 
My purpose should not fail with me, 
But thither would I now; 
And as duly, 
But not as truly, 
As bird doth sing on bough.* 

KING HENRY VIII. 



INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. 

ORPHEUS with his lute made trees, 
And the mountain-tops that freeze, 
Bow themselves, when he did sing : 
To his music, plants and flowers, 
Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers 
There had made a lasting spring. 

* These fragments of ballads, sung by Pistol and the Boy (Act iii. 
Sc. z), are taken in the form in which they are here given from the 
curious volume of MS. Notes and Emendations on the Folio of \6lz, 
published by Mr. Collier. In all existing editions of Shakespeare the 
first line of the first stanza forms part of the dialogue, and it is here, 
with the two lines that immediately follow, thrown into verse by the 
emendator. In the third line of the second stanza the word hie, as 
printed in all the copies, is changed, with obvious propriety, into now. 
A comparison between the verses as they are given above, and as they 
are printed in the play, will enable the reader to trace the variances. 



102 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Everything that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea, 

Hung their heads, and then lay by — 
In sweet music is such art : 
Killing care, and grief of heart, 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 

HAMLET. 



OPHELIA'S SONGS. 
I 

MOW should I your true love know 
-*--*- From another one? 
By his cockle hat and staff, 
And his sandal shoon. 

He is dead and gone, lady, 

He is dead and gone ; 
At his head a grass-green turf, 

At his heels a stone. 

White his shroud as the mountain snow, 
Larded all with sweet flowers, 

Which bewept to the grave did go, 
With true-love showers. 



GOOD morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day, 
All in the morning betime, 
And I a maid at your window, 
To be your Valentine. 

Then up he rose, and donned his clothes, 

And dupped* the chamber door; 
Let in the maid, that out a maid 

Never departed more. 

* To do open, abbreviated into chip, or do up. The meaning is ex- 
plained by Dr. Nares: — ' Some gates and doors were opened by lifting 
up as port-cullises, and that kind of half-door swinging on two hinges 
at the top, which is still seen in some shops.' — Glossary. It also applies 
to doors with latches. 



SHAKESPEARE. 103 

By Gis, and by Saint Charity, 

Alack, and fy for shame ! 
Young men will do it, if they come to it ; 

By cock, they are to blame. 

Quoth she, before you tumbled me, 

You promised me to wed : 
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, 

An thou hadst not come to my bed. 

3 

A ND will he not come again? 
-£*- And will he not come again? 
No, no, he is dead, 
Go to thy death-bed, 
He never will come again. 

His beard was as white as snow 
All flaxen was his poll : 

He is gone, he is gone, 

And we cast away moan; 
God 'a' mercy on his soul ! 



geave-digger's song.* 

TN youth when I did love, did love, 
-*- Methought, it was very sweet, 
To contract, O, the time, for, ah ! my behove 
0, methought, there was nothing meet. 



* These stanzas are from the poem of The Aged Lover renounceth 
Love, written by Lord Vaux — See Suiwy's Poems [Ann. Ed. p. zz6~\. 
In Shakespeare's time Lord Vaux s poem was one of the popular ballads 
of the day, and Shakespeare appears to have altered the verses 
to suit them the better to the character of the grave-digger ; unless 
we are to suppose that corruptions had crept into the broad-sheet. 
The following are the original stanzas : — 

* I loathe that I did love 

In youth that I thought sweet, 
As time requires for my behove, 
Methinks they are not meet. 



104 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

But age, with his stealing steps, 
Hath clawed me in his clutch, 

And hath shipped me intil the land, 
As if I had never been such. 

A pickaxe, and a spade, a spade, 
For — and a shrouding sheet : 

0, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 



CYMBELINE. 



SERENADE. 



HARK ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chaliced flowers that lies ; 
And winking Mary-buds begin 

To ope their golden eyes ; 
With every thing that pretty bin :* 
My lady sweet, arise ; 
Arise, arise. 



F 



THE DIBGE OF IMOGEN. 

EAR no more the heat o' the sun 



Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
Thou thy wordly task hast done, 

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages : 
Golden lads and girls all must, 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

For Age with stealing steps 

Hath clawed me with his clutch, 

And lusty Life away she leaps 
As there had been none such. 

A pick-axe and a spade, 
And eke a shrouding sheet, 

A house of clay for to be made 
For such a guest most meet.' 

* Printed is in the folio, changed by Hanmer to bin 



SHAKESPEARE. 105 

Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 

Care no more to clothe, and eat; 
To thee the reed is as the oak : 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone 

Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Thou hast finished joy and moan: 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

No exorciser harm thee ! 
Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
Nothing ill come near thee ! 

Quiet consummation have ; 

And renowned be thy grave ! 

OTHELLO. 

KING STEPHEN. 

KING Stephen was a worthy peer, 
His breeches cost him but a crown; 
He held them sixpence all too dear, 
With that he called the tailor lown. 

He was a wight of high renown, 
And thou art but of low degree : 

'Tis pride that pulls the country down, 
Then tak thy auld cloak about thee.* 



* An English version of the old ballad (supposed to have been 
originally Scotch) from which these stanzas are taken will be found 
in Percy's Reliques, i. i53, ed. 1844, 



106 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



THE WILLOW SONG. 

HP HE poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, 

-*- Sing all a green willow; 

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing willow, willow, willow : 
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmured her moans; 
Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the stones; 

Sing willow, willow, willow; 

Sing all a green willow must be my garland.* 



KING LEAR. 



THE FOOL'S SONG. 

Tj^OOLS had ne'er less grace in a year; 
-■- For wise men are grown foppish ; 
And know not how their wits to wear, 
Their manners are so apish. 

Then they for sudden joy did weep, 

And I for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play bo-peep, 

And go the fool among. 



* This is the opening verse of an old hallad adapted to Desdtmona 
by changing the sex of the forsaken lover. The following are the 
words of the original : — 

' A poor soul sat sighing under a sycamore tree ; 
' O willow, willow, willow !' 
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee •, 
' O willow, willow, willow! 
O willow, willow, willow ! 
Sing, the green willow shall be my garland.' ' 

The whole ballad is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys' 
Collection by Bishop Percy. — Reliques, i. i5<5. For the first WilloTr 
Song, see ante, p. 35. 



SHAKESPEARE. 



107 



MACBETH. 



THE WITCHES' EENDEZVOUS. 

i Witch. TT7HEN' shall we three meet again, 
^ » In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 

2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's done, 

When the battle's lost and won : 

3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 
i Witch. Where the place? 

2 Witch. Upon the heath ; 

3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth, 
i Witch. I come, Grimalkin!* 

All. Paddockf calls : — Anon. — 
Fair is foul, and foul is fair ; 
Hover through the fog and filthy air. 



THE CHAEM. 



1 Witch. 'THRICE the brindedj cat hath mewed. 

2 Witch. -*- Thrice; and once the hedgehog whined. 

3 Witch. Harpier cries : — 'Tis time, 'tis time. 
i Witch. Round about the caldron go : 

In the poisoned entrails throw. 
Toad, that under cold stone, 
Days and nights hath thirty-one, 
Sweltered venom sleeping got, 
Boil thou first in the charmed pot ! 
All. Double, double, toil and trouble; 
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble. 

2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 

In the caldron boil and bake ; 
Eye of newt, and toe of frog ; 
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog ; 
Adder s fork, and blind-worm's sting ; 
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing; 



* A cat. 



f A toad. 



; Fierce. 



108 SONGS FKOM THE DRAMATISTS. 

For a charm of powerful trouble; 
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
All. Double, double, toil and trouble; 
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble. 

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; 

Witches' mummy ; maw, and gulf 
Of the ravened salt sea-shark ; 
Root of hemlock, digged i' the dark; 
Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
Silvered in the moon's eclipse; 
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; 
Finger of birth strangled babe, 
Ditch-delivered by a drab, 
Make the gruel thick and slab; 
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,* 
For the ingredients of our caldron. 
All. Double, double, toil and trouble; 
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble. 

2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 

Then the charm is firm and good. 

TIMON OF ATHENS. 



APEMANTUS'S GBACE. 

IMMORTAL gods, I crave no pelf; 
T pray for no man but myself: 
Grant I may never prove so fond, 
To trust man on his oath or bond y 
Or a harlot for her weeping ; 
Or a dog that seems a sleeping ; 
Or a keeper with my freedom; 
Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 
Amen. So fall to't : 
Rich men sin, and I eat root. 

* Entrails. 



BEN JONSON. 109 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



OH ! OH !— HA ! HA ! 

LOYE, love, nothing but love, still more ! 
For, oh, love's bow 
Shoots buck and doe : 
The shaft confounds, 
Not that it wounds, 
But tickles still the sore. 

These lovers cry — Oh ! oh ! they die ! 

Yet that which seems the wound to kill, 
Doth turn oh ! oh ! to ha ! ha ! he ! 

So dying love lives still : 
Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha ! 

ANTONY AND CLEOPATEA. 



BACCHANALIAN BOUND. 

COME, thou monarch of the vine, 
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne : 
In thy vats our cares be drowned; 
With thy grapes our hairs be crowned ; 
Cup us, till the world go round; 
Cup us, till the world go round ! 



BEN JONSON. 
I574—I637- 



[Afteb Shakespeare's songs all others appear to disadvantage. 
He shows an instinctive knowledge of the secret of this kind 
of writing as of everything else. His songs possess in per- 
fection all the essential elements of gaiety and tenderness, 
facility and grace, idiomatic purity, melody in the expression, 

THE DEAMATISTS. 8 



110 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

variety, suddenness, and completeness. In their airiness and 
sweetness, their spontaneity and full-throated ease, they 
resemble the songs of birds. The contrast with Ben Jonson 
is striking. Here we have a great command of resources, and 
a visible air of preparation. The lines are thoughtful, and 
occasionally rugged, and must be read, even in the singing, 
with a certain degree of emphasis and deliberation. They do 
not spring at once to the heart and the fancy. Without a 
particle- of pedantry, of which Jonson was unjustly accused 
by his detractors, the spirit of the Greek anthology is in them, 
and is felt either in the allusions, the phrase, the subject, or 
the diction. Yet, in a different way, they are as charming as 
Shakespeare's, and worthy to stand beside them. If they do 
not recall the ravishing music of the lark or the nightingale, 
they hold us in the spell of some fine instrument whose rich 
notes are delivered with the skill of a master. It is the 
difference between impulse and premeditation, and, in a 
general sense, between nature and art, although we are com- 
pelled to acknowledge in Shakespeare the presence of the 
highest art also. Ben Jonson is generally supposed to be 
distinguished chiefly, if not exclusively, by his learning and 
his humour. But his songs, his masques, and pastoral 
scenes are strewn with beauties of another order, and exhibit, 
over and above his more special qualities, singular elegance 
of thought and a luxuriant fancy. 

The dates attached to the titles of the plays from which 
the following lyrics are extracted, are the dates of their pro- 
duction upon the stage.] 

cynthia's revels. 1600. 



ECHO MOTJENING THE DEATH OE NAECISSTJS. 

SLOW, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; 
Yet slower, yet, faintly gentle springs : 
List to the heavy part the music bears, 

Woe weeps out her division when she sings. 



BEN JONSON. Ill 

Droop herbs and flowers; 
Fall grief in showers, 
Our beauties are not ours; 
O, I could still, 
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill, 

Drop, drop, drop, drop, 
Since nature's pride is, now, a withered daffodil. 



THE KISS. 

OTHAT joy so soon should waste ! 
' Or so sweet a bliss 

As a kiss 
Might not for ever last ! 
So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, 

The dew that lies on roses, 

When the morn herself discloses, 
Is not so precious. 
O rather than I would it smother, 
Were I to taste such another; 

It should be my wishing 

That I might die kissing. 



THE GLOVE OP THE DEAD LADY. 

THOU more than most sweet glove, 
Unto my more sweet love, 
Suffer me to store with kisses 
This empty lodging that now misses 
The pure rosy hand that wore thee, 
Whiter than the kid that bore thee. 
Thou art soft, but that was softer; 
Cupid's self hath kissed it ofter 
Than e'er he did his mother's doves, 
Supposing her the queen of loves, 
That was thy mistress, 
Best of gloves. 

8—2 



112 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

HYMN TO DIANA. 

QUEEN, and huntress, chaste and fair, 
Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
Seated in thy silver chair, 

State in wonted manner keep :* 
Hesperus entreats thy light, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade 

Dare itself to interpose ; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when day did close : 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal shining quiver; 
Give unto thy flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever : 
Thou that makest a day of night, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

THE POETASTER. l6oi. 



THE LOVER'S IDEAL. 

IE I freely may discover 
What would please me in my lover, 

I would have her fair and witty, 

Savouring more of court than city; 

A little proud, but full of pity; 

Light and humorous in her toying; 

Oft building hopes, and soon destroying ; 

Long, but sweet in the enjoying; 
Neither too easy nor too hard, 
All extremes I would have barred. 



Come, but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step, and mincing gait. 

Mllton.— II Penseroso. 



BEN JONSON. 113 

She should be allowed her passions, 
So they were but used as fashions ; 
Sometimes froward, and then frowning, 
Sometimes sickish, and then swooning, 
Every fit with change still crowning. 
Purely jealous I would have her, 
Then only constant when I crave her; 
'Tis a virtue should not save her. 

Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, 

Nor her peevishness annoy me.* 

WANTON CUPID. 

LOVE is blind, and a wanton ; 
In the whole world, there is scant [one] 

One such another : 

No, not his mother. 
He hath plucked her doves and sparrows, 
To feather his sharp arrows, 

And alone prevaileth, 

While sick Yenus waileth. 
But if Cypris once recover 
The wag; it shall behove her 

To look better to him, 

Or she will undo him. 

wake! music and wine. 

WAKE, our mirth begins to die, 
Quicken it with tunes and wines 
Raise your notes; you're out: fy, fy ! 
This drowsiness is an ill sign. 



* The germ of this song may be traced to the following epigram of 
Martial : 

* Qualem, Flacce, velim quseris, nolimve puellam, 

Nolo nimis facilem, difficilemve nimis : 
Illud quod medium est, atque inter utrumque probamus, 
Nee volo quod cruciat, nee volo quod satiat.' 
Thus rendered by Elphinston : 

• What a fair, my dear Flaccus, I like or dislike ? 

I approve not the dame, or too kind, or too coy; 

The sweet medium be mine : no extremities strike : 

I'll have her who knows nor to torture nor cloy.' 



114 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

We banish him the quire of gods, 

That droops again : 

Then all are men, 
For here's not one, but nods. 

THE FEAST OP THE SENSES. 

HPHEN, in a free and lofty strain, 
-*- Our broken tunes we thus repair; 
And we answer them again, 

E-unning division on the panting air; 

To celebrate this feast of sense, 

As free from scandal as offence. 

Here is beauty for the eye ; 

For the ear sweet melody ; 
Ambrosial odours for the smell ; 

Delicious nectar for the taste ; 

For the touch a lady's waist ; 
Which doth all the rest excel ! 

volpone; or, the fox. 1605. 



FOOLS, they are the only nation 
Worth men's envy or admiration; 
Free from care or sorrow-taking, 
Selves and others merry making : 
All they speak or do is sterling. 
Your fool he is your great man's darling, 
And your ladies' sport and pleasure; 
Tongue and babble are his treasure. 
Even his face begetteth laughter, 
And he speaks truth free from slaughter;"* 
He's the grace of every feast, 

And sometimes the chief est guest ; 



* Reason here, observes one of Jonson's commentators, has been 
made to suflbr for the rhyme, slander being the word apparently 
designed. 



BEN JONSON. 115 

Hath his trencher and his stool, 
When wit waits upon the fool. 
O, who would not be 
He, he, he?* 

LOVE WHILE WE CAN. 

COME, my Celia, let us prove, 
While we can the sports of love, 
Time will not be ours for ever, 
He, at length, our good will sever; 
Spend not then his gifts in vain, 
Suns that set may rise again : 
But if once we lose this light, 
'Tis with us perpetual night. 
Why should we defer our joys? 
Fame and rumour are but toys. 
Cannot we delude the eyes 
Of a few poor household spies? 
Or his easier ears beguile, 
Thus removed by our wile? 
'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal ; 
But the sweet thefts to reveal : 
To be taken, to be seen, 
These have crimes accounted been.+ 

THE QUEEN'S MASQUE. 1605. 



THE BIETH OE LOYE. 

SO beauty on the waters stood, 
When love had severed earth from flood; 
So when he parted air from fire, 
He did with concord all inspire ; 

* There is a Fool's Song in the Bird in a Cage of Shirley (see 
Shirley's songs in this volume) which seems to he formed upon this song. 

f The leading idea of this song is taken from Catullus. It was a 
favourite theme with the old dramatists, and will be found treated in 
a variety of ways amongst their songs. 



116 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

And there a matter he then taught 
That elder than himself was thought \ 
Which thought was yet the child of earth, 
For Love is older than his birth. 



CUPIDS SHOOTING AT EANDOM. 

TF all these Cupids now were blind, 

-*- As is their wanton brother, 

Or play should put it in their mind 

To shoot at one another, 
What pretty battle they would make, 
If they their object should mistake, 

And each one wound his mother. 



epicozne; or, the silent woman. 1609. 



THE GEACE OE SIMPLICITY. 

STILL to be neat, still to be drest, 
As you were going to a feast ; 
Still to be powdered, still perfumed : 
Lady, it is to be presumed, 
Though art's hid causes are not found, 
All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a look, give me a face, 

That makes simplicity a grace ; 

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 

Than all the adulteries of art; 

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.* 



* This is one of the hest known of Jonson's songs, and a remarkable 
illustration of the art with which he constructed these compositions. 
The first verse is an evident preparation for the skilful flattery and 
delightful sentiment of the second. Nothing less than the fascinating 
result to which it leads us could excuse its want of gallantry. 



BEN JONSON. 117 

BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 1614. 



THE BALLAD OP THE CtTT-PTJESE .* 

MY masters, and friends, and good people, draw near, 
And look to your purses for that I do say; 
And though little money in them you do bear, 
It cost more to get, than to lose in a day. 

* In the Roxburghe collection there is a ballad with the following 
title : — ' A Caveat for Cut-Purses. With a warning to all purse carriers, 
shewing the confidence of the first, and the carelessness of the last, 
with necessary admonitions for them both, lest the hangman get the 
one, and the beggar the other.' Mr. Collier observes upon it that 
' this singular ballad preceded the Restoration, and indeed the civil 
wars, and the mention in it of Dun, the public hangman, is one proof 
of its date;' and he adds,' it is to be observed that the ballad singer 
speaks in his own person ; and, were it not for the conclusion, we 
might suppose that the production was a 'jig' which had been per- 
formed by a comic actor at the Curtain, the Red Bull, or some other 
popular place of amusement.' It escaped Mr. Collier that the first 
five stanzas are in Ben Jonson's play of Bartholomew Fair, acted 
for the first time on the 31st October, 1614, at the Hope theatre, Bank- 
side. The song is sung by Nightingale, a ballad singer in the fair, and 
immediately afterwards Edgworth, a cut-purse, puts its doctrines into 
practice by picking the pocket of a country-gentleman, and handing over 
the purse he has stolen to the ballad- singer. The additional verses in 
the broad sheet, containing the allusion to Dun, the hangman, who 
seems to have succeeded to his office in 1616, two years after the play 
was produced, were evidently added afterwards. They extend the 
ballad to ten verses, and run as follow : 

The players do tell you, in Bartholomew Fair, 

What secret consumptions and rascals you are ; 
For one of their actors, it seems, had the fate 
By some of your trade to be fleeced of late : 
Then fall to your prayers, 
You that are way-layers, 
They're fit to choose all the world that can cheat players ; 
For he hath the art, and no man the worse, 
Whose cunning can pilfer the pilferer's purse. 

Youth, youth, &c. 

The plain countryman that comes staring to London, 

If once you come near him he quickly is undone, 
For when he amazedly gazeth about, 

One treads on his toes, and the other pulls it out : 
Then in a strange place, 
Where he knows no face, 
His money is gone, 'tis a pitiful case. 



118 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

You oft have been told, 

Both the young and the old, 
And bidden beware of the Cut-purse so bold ! 
Then if you take heed not, free me from the curse, 
Who both give you warning, for, and the Cut-purse. 
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy 
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. [nurse, 

It hath been upbraided to men of my trade, 

That oftentimes we are the cause of this crime : 

Alack, and for pity ! why should it be said, 
As if they regarded or places or time? 

The Devil in hell in his trade is not worse, 
Than Gilter, and Diver, and Cutter of purse. 

Youth, youth, &c. 
The poor servant maid wears her purse in her placket, 

A place of quick feeling, and yet you can take it ; 
Nor is she aware that you have done the feat, 
Until she is going to pay for her meat ; 
Then she cries and rages 
Amongst the baggages, 
And swears at one thrust she hath lost all her wages ; 
For she is engaged her own to disburse, 
To make good the breach of the cruel Cut-purse. 

Youth, youth, &c. 
Your eyes and your fingers are nimble of growth, 

But Dun many times hath been nimbler than both ; 
Yet you are deceived by many a slut, 

But the hangman is only the Cut-purse's cut. 
It makes you to vex 
When he bridles your necks, 
And then, at the last, what becomes of your tricks ? 
But when you should pray, you begin for to curse 
The hand that first showed you to slash at a purse. 
Youth, youth, &c. 
But now to my hearers this counsel I give, 

And pray, friends, remember it as long as you live ; 
Bring out no more cash in purse, pocket, or wallet, 
Than one single penny to pay for this ballad ; 
For Cut-purse doth shroud 
Himself in a cloud, 
There's many a purse hath been lost in a crowd, 
For he's the most rogue that doth cry up, and curses, 
Who first cries, ■ My masters, beware of your purses.' 
Oh ! youth, &c. 
An inferior hand may be easily detected in these supplementary 
verses. It will be seen, also, that the writer changes the alternate 
rhymes to couplets. 



BEN JONS ON". 119 

Examples have been 
Of some that were seen 
In Westminster-hall, yea, the pleaders between ; 
Then why should the judges be free from this curse, 
More than my poor self for cutting the purse? 
Youth, youth, &c. 

At Worcester, 'tis known well, and even in the jail, 

A knight of good worship did there show his face 
Against the foul sinners in zeal for to rail, 

And lost (ipso facto) his purse in the place. 
Nay, once from the seat 
Of judgment so great, 
A judge there did lose a fair purse of velvate. 
Lord ! for thy mercy, how wicked, or worse, 
Are those that so venture their necks for a purse ! 
Youth, youth, &c. 

At plays, and at sermons, and at the sessions, 

'Tis daily their practice such booty to make ; 
Yea, under the gallows, at executions, 

They stick not the stare-abouts' purses to take. 
Nay, one without grace, 
At a better place, 
At court, and in Christmas, before the king's face. 
Alack, then for pity ! must I bear the curse, 
That only belongs to the cunning Cut-purse? 
Youth, youth, &c. 

But O, you vile nation of Cut-purses all, 

Relent and repent, and amend and be sound, 
And know that you ought not by honest men's fall 
Advance your own fortunes, to die above ground ; 
And though you go gay 
In silks as you may, 
It is not the high way to heaven, as they say. 
Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse, 
And kiss not the gallows for cutting a purse. 
Youth, youth, &c. 



120 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE NEW INN; OR, THE LIGHT HEART. 1 629. 



A VISION OF BEAUTY. 

TT was a beauty that I saw 

-*- So pure, so perfect, as the frame 

Of all the universe was lame, 
To that one figure could I draw, 
Or give least line of it a law S 

A skein of silk without a knot ! 
A fair march made without a halt ! 
A curious form without a fault ! 

A printed book without a blot ! 

All beauty, and without a spot. 

THE SAD SHEPHERDj OR, A TALE OF ROEIN HOOD. -5 



LOVE AND DEATH. 

HTHOTJGH I am young and cannot tell 
-*~ Either what death or love is well, 
Yet I have heard they both bear darts, 
And both do aim at human hearts ; 
And then again, I have been told, 
Love wounds with heat, as death with cold ; 
So that I fear they do but bring 
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. 

As in a ruin we it call, 
One thing to be blown up, or fall ; 
Or to our end, like way may have, 
By a flash of lightning, or a wave : 
So love's inflamed shaft or brand, 
May kill as soon as death's cold hand ; 
Except love's fires the virtue have 
To fright the frost out of the grave. 

* This piece, a dramatic pastoral, in the manner of the Faithful 
Shepherdess of Fletcher, was left unfinished by Jonson at his death. 
Only two acts, and a fragment of a third, are all that have come down 
to us. They abound in passages of exquisite beauty, and display his 
mastery over a species of poetry in which he is least appreciated. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 121 

THE FOREST.* 



TO CELIA. 

DRINK to me only with thine eyes, 
And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 

Doth ask a drink divine : 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
I would not change for thine. 

r sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honouring thee, 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be ; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 



FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER. 

1584— 1616. 1579— 16 25- 

[Yaeiety, grace, and sweetness are the predominant charac- 
teristics of Beaumont and Fletcher's songs. They occupy a 
middle region between Shakespeare and Jonson. The indi- 
vidual hand of either poet cannot be traced with certainty in 
any of these pieces. We learn from the traditions which 
have reached us, that they lived together on the Bank-side, 
and not only pursued their studies in close companionship, but 
carried their community of habits so far that they had only 
one bench between them, and used the same clothes and 
cloaks in common. Beaumont has got the credit (though the 
younger man) of possessing the restraining judgment, and 
Fletcher the overflowing fancy and exuberant wit. There 

* A collection of Jonson's smaller poems. 



122 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

can be no doubt, however, from the allusions of the Pro- 
logues and Commendatory Verses, that Fletcher had by far 
the larger share in the plays ; and, if such a conjecture may 
be hazarded upon internal evidence, the bulk of the songs 
may be ascribed to him also. They are full of that luxuri- 
ance and beauty which distinguish the pieces known to 
have been written by him separately.] 

THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 



CONSTANCY. 

LAY a garland on my hearse 
Of the dismal jew ; 
Maidens, willow branches bear; 
Say, I died true. 

My love was false, but I was firm 
From my hour of birth. 

Upon my buried body lie 
Lightly, gentle earth ! 

FICKLENESS. 

I COULD never have the power 
To love one above an hour, 
But my head would prompt mine eye 
On some other man to fly. 
Yenus, fix thou mine eyes fast, 
Or if not, give me all that I shall see at last. 

THE ELDER BROTHER.* 



THE STUDENT AWAKENED BY LOVE. 

BEAUTY clear and fair, 
Where the air 
Rather like a perfume dwells ; 
"Where the violet and the rose 
Their blue veins in blush disclose, 
And came to honour nothing else. 

* Ascribed to Fletcher. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 123 

Where to live near, 

And planted there, 

Is to live, and still live new ; 
Where to gain a favour is 
More than light, perpetual bliss, — 

Make me live by serving you. 

Dear, again back recall 
To this light, 

A stranger to himself and all ; 
Both the wonder and the story 
Shall be yours, and eke the glory : 

I am your servant, and your thrall. 

THE SPANISH CURATE.* 



SPEAK, LOVE !f 

DEAREST, do not delay me, 
Since, thou knowest, I must be gone; 
Wind and tide, 'tis thought, doth stay me, 
But 'tis wind that must be blown 

From that breath, whose native smell 
Indian odours far excel. 

Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair! 

Kill not him that vows to serve thee ; 
But perfume this neighbouring air, J 

Else dull silence, sure, will starve me : 
'Tis a word that's quickly spoken, 
Which, being restrained, a heart is broken. 

* By Fletcher. 

f This song, and that which immediately follows, not having 
appeared in the original edition of the Spanish Curate, were removed 
from the text by Mr. Colman. The authorship is, of course, doubtful ; 
but the stage directions in the places in which they were inserted 
indicate that some songs were intended to be- introduced by the 
authors ; and, to whatever hand we are indebted for these, they are 
entitled to preservation in this collection. 

X This looks either like the authorship of Fletcher, or an intentional 



124 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



COTTNTEY FEASTING. 

LET the bells ring, and let the boys sing, 
The young lasses skip and play ; 
Let the cups go round, 'till round goes the ground; 
Our learned old vicar will stay. 

Let the pig turn merrily, merrily, ah ! 

And let the fat goose swim; 
For verily, verily, verily, ah ! 

Our vicar this day shall be trim.* 

The stewed cock shall crow, cock-a-loodle-loo, 
A loud cock-a-loodle shall he crow ; 

The duck and the drake shall swim in a lake 
Of onions and claret below. 

Our wives shall be neat, to bring in our meat 

To thee our most noble adviser; 
Our pains shall be great, and bottles shall sweat, 

And we ourselves will be wiser. 

"We'll labour and swink,t we'll kiss and we'll drink, 
And tithes shall come thicker and thicker; 

We'll fall to our plough, and get children enow, 
And thou shalt be learned old vicar. 



imitation. A similar passage occurs in a preceding song : 
' Beauty clear and fair, 
Where the air 
Rather like a perfume dwells,' Sec. 

* Dibdin appears to have founded the burthen of a song in the 
Quaker on this verse : 

' When the lads of the village shall merrily, ah, 
Sound the tabors, I'll hand thee along; 
And I say unto thee, that verily, ah ! 
Thou and I will be first in the throng.' 

f To work hard. 



BEAUMONT AND 1TLETCHEK. 125 



WIT WITHOUT MONEY. 



TAKE ME WHILE I M IN THE VEIN. 

rPHE fit's upon me now, 
-L The fit's upon me now ! 
Come quickly, gentle lady, 
The fit's upon me now ! 

The world shall soon know they're fools, 
And so shalt thou do too ; 

Let the cobbler meddle with his tools, 
The fit's upon me now ! 



BEGGARS BUSH.' 



THE KING OE THE BEGGAKS. 

CAST our caps and cares away : 
This is beggar's holiday! 
At the crowning of our king, 
Thus we ever dance and sing. 
In the world look out and see, 
Where's so happy a prince as he? 
Where the nation lives so free, 
And so merry as do we 1 ? 
Be it peace, or be it war, 
Here at liberty we are, 
And enjoy our ease and rest: 
To the field we are not pressed; 
Nor are called into the town, 
To be troubled with the gown. 
Hang all offices, we cry, 
And the magistrate too, by ! 
When the subsidy's encreased, 
We are not a penny sessed ; 

* Ascribed to Fletcher. 
THE DBA STATISTS. 



126 SONGS FEOM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Nor will any go to law 
With the beggar for a straw. 
All which happiness, he brags, 
He doth owe unto his ra^s. 



THE HUMOROUS LIEUTENANT. 



THE LOYE PHILTER. 



E ] 



ISE from the shades below, 
All you that prove 
The helps of loose love ! 
Rise, and bestow 
Upon this cup whatever may compel, 
By powerful charm and unresisted spell, 
A heart unwarmed to melt in love's desires ! 
Distil into liquor all your fires ; 
Heats, longings, tears; 
But keep back frozen fears ; 
That she may know, that has all power defied, 
Art is a power that will not be denied. 

THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS, t 



THE SATYE.J 

T^HROUGH yon same bending plain 
J- That flings his arms down to the main, 
And through these thick woods,§ have I run, 
Whose bottom never kissed the sun 



* Also ascribed to Fletcher by the writers of the commendator 
verses, and confirmed by the authority of a MS. referred to by Mr. 
Dyce. 

f The sole production of Fletcher. 

* The lyrical character of this soliloquy of the Satyr, and of two or 
three similar pieces extracted from the same pastoral comedy, may be 
allowed to justify their insertion in this volume, if their beauty stand 
in need of any plea for their admission. 

§ Mr. Seward traces an imitation of Shakespeare's Midsummer 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 12 1 

Since the lusty spring began ; 

All to please my Master Pan, 

Have I trotted without rest 

To get him fruit ; for at a feast 

He entertains, this coming night, 

His paramour, the Syrinx bright. 

But, behold a fairer sight ! 

By that heavenly form of thine, 

Brightest fair, thou art divine, 

Sprung from great immortal race 

Of the gods ; for in thy face 

Shines more awful majesty, 

Than dull weak mortality 

Dare with misty eyes behold, 

And live ! Therefore on this mould 

Lowly do I bend my knee 

In worship of thy deity. 

Deign it, goddess, from my hand, 

To receive whate'er this land 

From her fertile womb doth send 

Of her choice fruits ; and but lend 

Belief to that the Satyr tells : 

Fairer by the famous wells 

To this present day ne'er grew, 

Never better nor more true. 

Here be grapes, whose lusty blood 

Is the learned poet's good, 

Sweeter yet did never crown 

The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown 



Night's Dream in the beginning and ending of this soliloquy. The pas- 
sage is in the speech of the Fairy : 

• Over hill, over dale, 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire,' &c. 

A still closer imitation of Fletcher himself may be found in the 
Comus of Milton, which owes large obligations not only to the imagery 
and general treatment, but to the plan of the Faithful Shepherdess. 

9—2 



128 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Than the squirrel's teeth that crack them; 

Deign, oh fairest fair, to take them! 

For these black-eyed Dryope 

Hath often-times commanded me 

With my clasped knee to climb : 

See how -well the lusty time 

Hath decked their rising cheeks in red, 

Such as on your lips is spread ! 

Here be berries for a queen, 

Some be red, some be green; 

These are of that luscious meat, 

The great god Pan himself doth eat : 

All these, and what the woods can yield, 

The hanging mountain, or the field, 

I freely offer, and ere long 

Will bring you more, more sweet and strong ; 

Till when, humbly leave I take, 

Lest the great Pan do awake, 

That sleeping lies in a deep glade, 

Under a broad beech's shade. 

I must go, I must run 

Swifter than the fiery sun. 

THE PEAISES OP PAS". 

SING his praises that doth keep 
Our flocks from harm, 
Pan, the father of our sheep ; 

And arm in arm 
Tread we softly in a round, 
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground 
Fills the music with her sound. 

Pan, oh, great god Pan, to thee 

Thus do we sing ! 
Thou that keep'st us chaste and free 

As the young spring ; 
Ever be thy honour spoke, 
From that place the morn is spoke, 
To that place day doth unyoke ! 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 129 



THE INVITATION. 

COME, shepherds, come! 
Come away 
Without delay 
Whilst the gentle time doth stay. 

Green woods are dumb, 
And will never tell to any 
Those dear kisses, and those many 
Sweet embraces, that are given, 
Dainty pleasures, that would even 
Raise in coldest age a fire, 
And give virgin blood desire. 
Then, if ever, 
Now or never, 
Come and have it : 
Think not I 
Dare deny, 
If you crave it. 

EVENING SONG- OE PAN'S PEIEST. 

SHEPHERDS all, and maidens fair, 
Fold your flocks up, for the air 
'Gins to thicken, and the sun 
Already his great course hath run. 
See the dew-drops how they kiss 
Every little flower that is, 
Hanging on their velvet heads, 
Like a rope of crystal beads : 
See the heavy clouds low falling, 
And bright Hesperus down calling 
The dead Night from under ground; 
At whose rising mists unsound, 
Damps and vapours fly apace, 
Hovering o'er the wanton face 
Of these pastures, where they come, 
Striking dead both bud and bloom : 



130 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Therefore, from such danger lock 

Every one his loved flock; 

And let your dogs lie loose without, 

Lest the wolf come as a scout 

From the mountain, and, ere day, 

Bear a lamb or kid away; 

Or the crafty thievish fox 

Break upon your simple flocks. 

To secure yourselves from these, 

Be not too secure in ease; 

Let one eye his watches keep, 

Whilst the other eye doth sleep ; 

So you shall good shepherds prove, 

And for ever hold the love 

Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers, 

And soft silence, fall in numbers 

On your eye -lids! So, farewell! 

Thus I end my evening's knell. 

THE SULLEN SHEPHEED TO AMAEILLIS ASLEEP. 

FROM thy forehead thus I take 
These herbs, and charge thee not awake 
'Till in yonder holy well 
Thrice, with powerful magic spell, 
Filled with many a baleful word, 
Thou hast been dipped. Thus, with my chord 
Of blasted hemp, by moonlight twined, 
I do thy sleepy body bind. 
I turn thy head unto the east,* 
And thy feet unto the west, 
Thy left arm to the south put forth, 
And thy right unto the north. 
I take thy body from the ground, 
In this deep and deadly swound, 

* Thus in Cynibeline: — 

4 Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east ; 
My father had a reason for't.' 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 131 

And into this holy spring 
I let thee slide down by my string. 
Take this maid, thou holy pit, 
To thy bottom; nearer yet; 
In thy water pure and sweet, 
By thy leave I dip her feet ; 
Thus I let her lower yet, 
That her ankles may be wet ; 
Yet down lower, let her knee 
In thy waters washed be. 
There stop. Fly away,* 
Everything that loves the day ! 
Truth, that hath but one face, 
Thus I charm thee from this place. 
Snakes -that cast your coats for new, 
Chamelions that alter hue, 
Hares that yearly sexes change, 
Proteus altering oft and strange, 
Hecate, with shapes three, 
Let this maiden changed be, 
With this holy water wet, 
To the shape of Amoret ! 
Cynthia, work thou with my charm ! 
Thus I draw thee, free from harm, 
Up out of this blessld lake. 
Rise both like her and awake ! 

THE SATYR'S WATCH. 

NOW, whilst the moon doth rule the sky, 
And the stars, whose feeble light 
Give[s] a pale shadow to the night, 

* Regarding this line as an ' unmusical hemistich' occasioned pro- 
bably 'by the loss of one or more words,' Mr. Seward and Mr. 
Sympson altered it to 

• There I stop. Now fly away.' 
With such scrupulous ears for syllabic completeness, it is surprising 
they did not fill out a hemistich that occurs a few lines lower down, 
and that is really unmusical. The abruptness of the line they have 
altered was obviously intentional. 



132 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Are up, great Pan commanded me 
To walk this grove about, whilst he, 
In a corner of the wood, 
Where never mortal foot hath stood, 
Keeps dancing, music, and a feast, 
To entertain a lovely guest : 
Where he gives her maiiy a rose, 
Sweeter than the breath that blows 
The leaves, grapes, berries of the best ; 
I never saw so great a feast. 
But, to my charge. Here must I stay, 
To see what mortals lose their way, 
And by a false fire, seeming bright, 
Train them in and leave them right. 
Then must I watch if any be 
Forcing of a chastity ; 
If I find it, then in haste 
Give my wreathed horn a blast, 
And the fairies all will run, 
"Wildly dancing by the moon, 
And will pinch him to the bone, 
Till his lustful thoughts be gone. 

Back again about this ground; 

Sure I hear a mortal sound. — 

I bind thee by this powerful spell, 

By the waters of this well, 

By the glimmering moon-beams bright, 

Speak again, thou mortal wight ! 

Here the foolish mortal lies, 

Sleeping on the ground. Arise ! 

The poor wight is almost dead ; 

On the ground his wounds have bled, 

And his clothes fouled with his blood : 

To my goddess in the wood 

Will I lead him, whose hands pure 

Will help this mortal wight to cure. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 133 

AMORET AND THE RIVEB-GOD. 

God. TT7HAT powerful charms my streams do 
* * Back again unto their spring, [bring 
"With such force, that I their god, 
Three times striking with my rod, 
Could not keep them in their ranks? 
My fishes shoot into the banks ; 
There's not one that stays and feeds, 
All have hid them in the weeds. 
Here's a mortal almost dead, 
Fallen into my river-head, 
Hallowed so with many a spell, 
That till now none ever fell. 
'Tis a female young and clear, 
Cast in by some ravisher : 
See upon her breast a wound, 
On which there is no plaster bound. 
Yet she's warm, her pulses beat, 
'Tis a sign of life and heat. — 
If thou be'st a virgin pure, 
I can give a present cure : 
Take a drop into thy wound, 
From my watery locks, more round 
Than orient pearl, and far more pure 
Than unchaste flesh may endure. — 
See, she pants, and from her flesh 
The warm blood gusheth out afresh. 
She is an unpolluted maid; 
I must have this bleeding staid. 
From my banks I pluck this flower 
With holy hand, whose virtuous power 
Is at once to heal and draw. — 
The blood returns. I never saw 
A fairer mortal. Now doth break 
Her deadly slumber. Yirgin, speak, [breath, 
Amoret. Who hath restored my sense, given me new 
And brought me back out of the aims of death? 



134 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

God. I have healed thy -wounds. 

Amoret. Ah me ! 

God. Fear not him that succoured thee. 
I am this fountain's god. Below, 
My waters to a river grow, 
And 'twixt two banks with osiers set, 
That only prosper in the wet, 
Through the meadows do they glide, 
Wheeling still on every side, 
Sometimes winding round about, 
To find the evenest channel out. 
And if thou wilt go with me, 
Leaving mortal company, 
In the cool streams shalt thou lie, 
Free from harm as well as I : 
I will give thee for thy food 
No fish that useth in the mud ; 
But trout and pike, that love to swim 
Where the gravel from the brim 
Through the pure streams may be seen : 
Orient pearl fit for a queen 
Will I give, thy love to win, 
And a shell to keep them in ; 
Not a fish in all my brook 
That shall disobey thy look, 
But, when thou wilt, come sliding by, 
And from thy white hand take a fly : 
And to make thee understand 
How I can my waves command, 
They shall bubble whilst I sing, 
Sweeter than the silver string. 

The Song. 

Do not fear to put thy feet 
Naked in the river sweet; 
Think not leech, or newt, or toad, 
Will bite thy foot, when thou hast trod ; 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 135 

Nor let the water rising high, 
As thou wad'st in, make thee cry 
And sob ; but ever live with me, 
And not a wave shall trouble thee ! 



SONG TO PAN. 

ALL ye woods, and trees, and bowers, 
All ye virtues and ye powers 
That inhabit in the lakes, 
In the pleasant springs or brakes, 
Move your feet 
To our sound, 
Whilst we greet 
All this ground 
With his honour and his name 
That defends our flocks from blame. 

He is great, and he is just, 
He is ever good, and must 
Thus be honoured. Daffodillies, 
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, 

Let us fling, 

Whilst we sing, 

Ever holy, 

Ever holy, 
Ever honoured, ever young ! 
Thus great Pan is e*ver sung. 

THE SATYR'S XEAVE-TAKIKG-. 

THOU divinest, fairest, brightest, 
Thou most powerful maid, and whitest, 
Thou most virtuous and most blessed, 
Eyes of stars, and golden tressed 
Like Apollo ! tell me, sweetest, 
What new service now is meetest 
For the Satyr? Shall I stray 
In the middle air, and stay 



136 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

The sailing rack, or nimbly take 
Hold by the moon, and gently make 
Suit to the pale queen of night 
For a beam to give thee light? 
Shall I dive into the sea, 
And bring thee coral, making way 
Through the rising waves that fall 
In snowy fleeces? Dearest, shall 
I catch thee wanton fawns, or flies 
Whose woven wings the summer dyes 
Of many colours ? get thee fruit, 
Or steal from Heaven old Orpheus' lute? 
All these I'll venture for, and more, 
To do her service all these woods adore. 

Holy virgin, I will dance 
Round about these woods as quick 
As the breaking light, and prick 
Down the lawns and down the vales 
Faster than the wind-mill sails. 
So I take my leave, and pray 
All the comforts of the day, 
Such as Phoebus' heat doth send 
On the earth, may still befriend 
Thee and this arbour !* 



* The functions of the Satyr in »this pastoral and the Attendant 
Spirit in Comics are identical ; and there are few passages in Milton 
finer or more exquisite than this last address of the Satyr. The fare- 
well of the Attendant Spirit is a direct imitation, and the lines 
toward the end are inferior in beauty to the original. The couplet, 

' But now my task is smoothly done, 
I can fly, or I can run,' 

is transplanted almost verbally from the first speech of the Satyr : 

4 1 must go, and I must run, 
Swifter than the fiery sun.' 

As a whole, however, the last speech of the Attendant Spirit 
transcends its prototype in magnificence of versification, and the 
gorgeous loveliness of its imagery. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHEE. 137 

THE MAD LOVER.* 



THE LOYER'S LEGACY TO HIS CEUEL MISTRESS. 

GO, happy heart ! for thou shalt lie 
Intombed in her for whom I die, 
Example of her cruelty. 

Tell her, if she chance to chide 
Me for slowness, in her pride, 
That it was for her I died. 

If a tear escape her eye, 
'Tis not for my memory, 
But thy rites of obsequy. 

The altar was my loving breast, 
My heart the sacrificed beast, 
And I was myself the priest. 

Your body was the sacred shrine, 
Your cruel mind the power divine, 
Pleased with the hearts of men, not kine. 

THE WARNING OP ORPHEUS. 

ORPHEUS I am, come from the deeps below, 
To thee, fond man, the plagues of love to show. 
To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell 
There's none that come, but first they pass through hell 
Hark, and beware ! unless thou hast loved, ever 
Beloved again, thou shalt see those joys never. 

Hark ! how they groan that died despairing ! 

Oh, take heed, then ! 
Hark, how they howl for over-daring ! 

All these were men. 

They that be fools, and die for fame, 
They lose their name ; 
And they that bleed 
Hark how they speed. 

* Ascribed to Fletcher. 



138 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires 
They sit, and curse their lost desires; 
Nor shall these souls be free from pains and fears, 
'Till women waft them over in their tears. 



TO VENUS. 

OH, fair sweet goddess, queen of loves, 
Soft and gentle as thy doves, 
Humble-eyed, and ever rueing 
These poor hearts, their loves pursuing ! 
Oh, thou mother of delight?, 
Crowner of all happy nights, 
Star of dear content and pleasure, 
Of mutual loves the endless treasure ! 
Accept this sacrifice we bring, 
Thou continual youth and spring; 
Grant this lady her desires, 
And every hour we'll crown thy fires. 

THE BATTLE OP PELUSTDH. 

ARM, arm, arm, arm ! the scouts are all come in ; 
Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win. I 
Behold from yonder hill the foe appears; 
Bows, bills, glaves, arrows, shields, and spears ! 
Like a dark wood* he comes, or tempest pouring; 
Oh, view the wings of horse the meadows scouring. 
The van-guard marches bravely. Hark, the drums ! 

Dub, dub. I 
They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes : 

* One of the commentators proposes to read clcud for wood. These 
emendations are very provoking, because they are supported by a cer- 
tain show of reason. But the writers of this hurricane song were not 
thinking of the literal reason of the matter, but of the suggestiveness 
of the image. And they have succeeded better than their critic. The 
coming of the dark wood is grander than the cloud. The rout and uproar 
of battle are admirably depicted. There are few specimens of this 
kind in these Dramatic Songs. The most animated and picturesque is 
a Sea-fight by Dryden. 






BEAUMONT AND FLETCIIEK. 139 

See how the arrows fly, 
That darken all the sky ! 
Hark how the trumpets sound, 
Hark how the hills rebound, 

Tara, tar a, tara, tara, tar a! 

Hark how the horses charge ! in, boys, boys, in ! 
The battle totters ; now the wounds begin : 

Oh, how they cry ! 

Oh, how they die ! 
Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder ! 

See how he breaks the ranks asunder ! 
They fly ! they fly ! Eumeues has the chase, 
And brave Polybius makes good his place. 

To the plains, to the woods, 

To the rocks, to the floods, 
They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow ! 
Hark how the soldiers hollow ! Hey, hey I 

Brave Diodes is dead, 

And all his soldiers fled; 

The battle's won, and lost, 

That many a life hath cost. 

THE LOYAL SUBJECT.* 



THE BBOOH-MAN'S SONG. 

BROOM, broom, the bonny broom! 
Come, buy my birchen broom : 
In the wars we have no more room, 
Buy all my bonny broom ! 
For a kiss take two ; 
If those will not do, 
For a little, little pleasure, 
Take all my whole treasure : 
If all these will not do't, 
Take the broom-man to boot. 

Broom, broom, the bonny broom ! 

* By Fletcher. 



140 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



THE FALSE ONE. 



TO CESAR AND CLEOPATEA ON THE NILE. 

Isis. TSIS, the goddess of this land, 

-*- Bids thee, great Csesar, understand 
And mark our customs : and first know, 
With, greedy eyes these watch the glow 
Of plenteous Nilus ; when he comes, 
With songs, with dances, timbrels, drums, 
They entertain him ; cut his way, 
And give his proud heads leave to play ; 

Nilus himself shall rise, and shew 

His matchless wealth in overflow. 
Labourers. Come, let us help the reverend Nile ; 
He's very old ; alas, the while ! 
Let us dig him easy ways, 
And prepare a thousand plays : 
To delight Ms streams, let's sing 
A loud welcome to our spring; 
This way let his curling heads 
Fall into our new-made beds ; 
This way let his wanton spawns 
Frisk, and glide it o'er the lawns. 
This way profit comes, and gain : 
How he tumbles here amain ! 
How his waters haste to fall 
Into our channels ! Labour, all, 
And let him in ; let Nilus flow, 
And perpetual plenty shew. 
With incense let us bless the brim, 
And, as the wanton fishes swim, 
Let us gums and garlands fling, 
And loud our timbrels ring. 

Come, old father, come away ! 

Our labour is our holiday. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCIIEK. 141 

Enter Nilus. 

I sis. Here comes the aged river now, 

With garlands of great pearl his brow 
Begirt and rounded. In his flow 
All things take life, and all things grow : 
A thousand wealthy treasures still, 
To do him service at his will, 
Follow his rising flood, and pour 
Perpetual blessings on our store. 
Hear him ; and next there will advance 
His sacred heads to tread a dance, 
In honour of my royal guest : 
Mark them too; and you have a feast. 
Nilus. Make room for my rich waters' fall, 
And bless my flood ; 
Nilus comes flowing to you all 

Encrease and good. 
Now the plants and flowers shall spring, 
And the merry ploughman sing : 
In my hidden waves I bring 
Bread, and wine, and everything. 
Let the damsels sing me in, 

Sing aloud, that I may rise : 
Your holy feasts and hours begin, 

And each hand bring a sacrifice. 
Now my wanton pearls I shew, 
That to ladies' fair necks grow; 

Now my gold, 
And treasures that can ne'er be told, 
Shall bless this land, by my rich flow; 
And after this, to crown your eyes, 
My hidden holy heads arise. 



THE DEAMATISTS. 10 



142 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER. 



SO>-& I>~ THE WOOD. 

r PHIS way, this way come, and hear, 
-*- You that hold these pleasures dear ; 
Fill your ears with our sweet sound, 
Whilst we melt the frozen ground. 
This way come ; make haste, oh, fair ! 
Let your clear eyes gild the air; 
Come, and bless us with your sight ; 
This way, this way, seek delight ! 



THE TRAGEDY OF V ALENTINI AX. 



THE LUSTY SPRING. 



NOW the lusty spring is seen; 
Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 
Daintily invite the view. 
Everywhere on every green, 
Roses blushing as they blow, 
And enticing men to pull, 
Lilies whiter than the snow, 
Woodbines of sweet honey full : 
All love's emblems, and all cry, 
( Ladies, if not plucked, we die.' 

Yet the lusty spring hath stayed, 

Blushing red and purest white 

Daintily to love invite 
Every woman, every maid. 
Cherries kissing as they grow, 

And inviting men to taste, 
Apples even ripe below, 

Winding gently to the waist : 
All love's emblems, and all cry, 
1 Ladies, if not plucked, we die.' 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 143 



HEAE, "WHAT LOTE CAN" DO. 

HEAR, ye ladies that despise, 
What the mighty love has done ; 
Fear examples, and be wise : 

Fair Calisto was a nun ; 
Leda, sailing on the stream 

To deceive the hopes of man, 
Love accounting but a dream, 
Doated on a silver swan; 
Danae, in a brazen tower, 
Where no love was, loved a shower. 

Hear, ye ladies that are coy, 

What the mighty love can do; 
Fear the fierceness of the boy : 

The chaste moon he makes to woo ; 
Vesta, kindling holy fires, 

Circled round about with spies, 
Never dreaming loose desires, 

Doting at the altar dies ; 

Ilion, in a short hour, higher 
He can build, and once more fire. 

MONSIEUR THOMAS.* 



THE MAID IN THE WINDOW. 



M' 



Y man Thomas 
Did me promise, 
He would visit me this night. 

I am here, love; 
Tell me, dear love, 
How I may obtain thy sight. 

Come up to my window, love; 

Come, come, come! 

* By Fletcher. 

10—2 



144 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Come to my window, my dear; 
The wind nor the rain 
Shall trouble thee again, 

But thou shalt be lodged here. 



THE CHANCES.* 



AN INVOCATION. 

/^OME away, thou lady gay: 
^ Hoist ! how she stumbles ! 
Hark how she mumbles. 
Dame Gillian ! 
Answer. — I come, I come. 

By old Claret I enlarge thee, 
By Canary thus I charge thee, 
By Britain Metheglin, and Peeter,t 
Appear, and answer me in metre ! 

Why, when? 

Why, Gill! 

Why when? 
Answer. — You'll tarry till I am ready. 

Once again I conjure thee, 

By the pose in thy nose, 

And the gout in thy toes ; 

By thine old dried skin, 

And the mummy within ; 

By thy little, little ruff, 

And thy hood that's made of stuff; 

By thy bottle at thy breech, 

And thine old salt itch; 

* Ascribed to Fletcher, 
f An abbreviation of Peter-see-me, itself a corruption of Pedro- 
Xirnenes, derived from Pedro-Simon, who is said to have imported the 
grape from the Rhine. — See note by Mr. Dyce, from Henderson's 
History of Wines — Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, vii. 397. Ximenes 
is still a well-known wine. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 145 

By the stakes, and the stones, 
That have worn out thy bones, 

Appear, 

Appear, 

Appear ! 
Answer. — Oh, I am here ! 



THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO, DUKE OF 
NORMANDY.* 



A DRINKING SONG-. 

"Pi RINK to-day, and drown all sorrow, 
U You shall perhaps not do it to-morrow : 
Best, while you have it, use your breath ; 
There is no drinking after death. 

Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit, 
There is no cure 'gainst age but it : 
It helps the head-ach, cough, and ptisick, 
And is for all diseases physick. 

Then let us swill, boys, for our health ; 
Who drinks well, loves the commonwealth, t 
And he that will to bed go sober 
Falls with the leaf, still in October. J 



* The sole authorship of this play by Fletcher is doubtful, although 
ascribed to him on the title-page of the edition of 1640. Parts of it 
are supposed, on internal evidence, to have been written by some 
other dramatist. — Weber suggests either W. Rowley or Middleton. 

f This defence of drinking is repeated and expanded in a song by 
ShadweU. 
X The following well-known catch, or glee, is formed on this song : 
• He who goes to bed, and goes to bed sober, 
Falls as the leaves do, and dies in October ; 
But he who goes to bed, and goes to bed mellow, 
Lives as he ought to do, and dies an honest fellow.' 



U6 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



SONG OF THE YEOMAN OE THE CELLAK, THE BTTTLEB, THE COOK, 
AND PAUL THE P ANTLER* GOING TO EXECUTION. 

Yeoman. 

C~'OME, Fortune's a jade, I care not who tell her, 
Would offer to strangle a page of the cellar, 
That should by his oath, to any man's thinking, 
And place, have had a defence for his drinking; 
But thus she does still when she pleases to palter, — 
Instead of his wages, she gives him a halter. 

Chorus. 

Three merry boys, and three merry boys, 

And three merry boys are we, 
As ever did sing in a hempen string 

Under the gallows tree ! 

Butler. 

But I that was so lusty, 

And ever kept my bottles, 
That neither they were musty, 

And seldom less than pottles ; 
For me to be thus stopped now, 

With hemp instead of cork, sir, 
And from the gallows lopped now, 

Shews that there is a fork, sir, 
In death, and this the token ; 

Man may be two ways killed, 
Or like the bottle broken, 

Or like the wine be spilled. 

Chorus. — Three merry boys, kc. 

Cook. 

Oh, yet but look 
On the master cook, 



* The Pantler was the servant who had charge of the pantry. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 



147 



The glory of the kitchen, 

In sewing whose fate, 

At so lofty a rate, 
No tailor e'er had stitch in ; 
For, though he made the man, 

The cook yet makes the dishes, 
The which no tailor can, 

Wherein I have my wishes, 
That I, who at so many a feast 

Have pleased so many tasters, 
Should now myself come to be dressed, 

A dish for you, my masters. 

Chorus. — Three merry boys, &c. 

Panther. 

Oh, man or beast, 

Or you, at least, 
That wears or brow or antler, 

Prick up your ears 

Unto the tears 
Of me, poor Paul the Pantler, 

That thus am clipped 

Because I chipped 
The cursed crust of treason 

With loyal knife : — > 

Oh, doleful strife, 
To hang thus without reason ! 

Chorus. — Three merry boys, &c. 

TAKE, OH! TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 

TA KE, oh ! take those lips away, 
That so sweetly were forsworn, 
And those eyes, like break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn ! 
But my kisses bring again, 
Seals of love, though sealed in vain. 

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, 
Which thy frozen bosom bears, 



148 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

On whose tops the pinks that grow 

Are yet of those that April wears ! 
But first set my poor heart free, 
Bound in those icy chains by thee.'* 

A WIFE FOR A MONTH.t 



TO THE BLEST ETASTTHE. 

I" ET those complain that feel Love's cruelty, 
■U And in sad legends write their woes ; 
"With roses gently h' has corrected me, 
My war is without rage or blows : 
My mistress' eyes shine fair on my desires, 
And hope springs up inflamed with her new fires. 

No more an exile will I dwell, 

With folded arms, and sighs all day, 
Beckoning the torments of my hell, 
And flinging my sweet joys away : 
I am called home again to quiet peace; 
My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease. 

* The first stanza of this song is found in Measure for Measure. — 
See ante, p. 95. The origin of both verses may be traced to the frag- 
ment Ad Lydiam, ascribed to Cornelius Gallus. The following are the 
corresponding passages, which discover a resemblance too close to have 
been merely accidental : 

' Pande, Puella, genas roseas, 
Perfusas rubro purpureas tyriae. 
Porrige labra, labra coralhna ; 
Da columbatim mitia basia : 
Sugis amentis partem animi. — 
Sinus expansa profert cinnama ; 

Undique surgunt ex te delicias. 
Conde papillas, qua? me sauciant 
Candore, et luxu nivei pectoris.' 
The English version of the second of these passages, by the translator 
of Secundus, is still nearer to Fletcher's song. 

' Again, above its envious rest, 
See, thy bosom heaves confest ! 
Hide the rapturous, dear delight ! 
Hide it from my ravished sight ! 
Hide it ! — for through all my soul 
Tides of maddening rapture roll.' 
f By Fletcher. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 149 

Yet, what is living in her eye, 

Or being blessed with her sweet tongue, 
If these no other joys imply 1 ? 

A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong : 
To be your own but one poor month, I'd give 
My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live. 

THE LOVERS' PROGRESS.* 



THE SONG OF THE DEAD HOST. 

'HP IS late and cold; stir up the fire; 

J- Sit close, and draw the table nigher; 
Be merry, and drink wine that's old, 
A hearty medicine 'gainst a cold : 
Your beds of wanton down the best, 
Where you shall tumble to your rest; 
I could wish you wenches too, 
But I am dead, and cannot do. 
Call for the best the house may ring, 
Sack, white, and claret, let them bring, 
And drink apace, while breath you have ; 
You'll find but cold drink in the grave : 
Plover, partridge, for your dinner, 
And a capon for the sinner, 
You shall find ready when you're up, 
And your horse shall have his sup : 
Welcome, welcome, shall fly round, 
And I shall smile, though under ground. 

THE PILGRIM, t 



NEPTUNE COMMANDING STILLNESS ON THE SEA. 

DOWN, ye angry waters all ! 
Ye loud whistling whirlwinds, fall ! . 
Down, ye proud waves ! ye storms, cease ! 
I command ye, be at peace ! 

* One of the pieces left unfinished by Fletcher, and completed by 
another writer — supposed to be Shirley, or Massinger. 
f Ascribed to Fletcher. 



150 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Fright not with your churlish notes, 
Nor bruise the keel of bark that floats; 
No devouring fish come nigh, 
Nor monster in my empery 
Once show his head, or terror bring; 
But let the "weary sailor sing : 
Amphitrite with white arms 
Strike my lute, I'll sing thy charms. 

THE CAPTAIN.* 



THE CATECHISM OF LOVE. 

TELL me, dearest, what is love? 
'Tis a lightning from above ; 
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, 
'Tis a boy they call Desire. 
'Tis a grave, 
Gapes to have 
Those poor fools that long to prove. 

Tell me more, are women true? 
Yes, some are, and some as you. 

Some are willing, some are strange, 
Since you men first taught to change. 
And till troth 
Be in both, 
All shall love, to love anew. 

Tell me more yet, can they grieve? 
Yes, and sicken sore, but live, 
And be wise, and delay, 
When you men are as wise as they. 
Then I see, 
Faith will be, 
Never till they both believe. t 

* The Prologue speaks of only one author, — one writer of com- 
mendatory verses ascribes it to both Beaumont and Fletcher, — the 
rest to Fletcher alone. 

f The music of this song was composed by Robert Jones. The first 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 151 



THE INVITATION. 

COME hither, you that love, and hear me sing 
Of joys still growing, 
Green, fresh, and lusty as the pride of spring, 

And ever blowing. 
Come hither, youths that blush, and dare not know 

What is desire ; 
And old men, worse than you, that cannot blow 

One spark of fire ; 
And with the power of my enchanting song, 
Boys shall be able men, and old men young. 

Come hither, you that hope, and you that cry; 

Leave off complaining; 
Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never die, 

Are here remaining. 
Come hither, fools, and blush you stay so long 

From being blessed ; 
And mad men, worse than you, that suffer wrong, 

Yet seek no rest ; 
And in an hour, with my enchanting song, 
You shall be ever pleased, and young maids long. 



two verses are repeated in TJie Knight of the Burning Pestle, with some 
variations. 

' Tell me, dearest, what is love ? 
'Tis a lightning from above; 
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire ; 
"Tis a boy they call Desire. 
'Tis a smile 
Doth beguile 
The poor hearts of men that prove. 

Tell me more, are women true ? 
Some love change, and so do you. 
Are they fair, and never kind ? 
Yes, when men turn with the wind. 
Are they froward ? 
Ever toward 
Those that love, to love anew.' 



152 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE QUEEN OF CORINTH.* 



A 'SAD SONG/ 

"TT7EEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan, 
* » Sorrow calls no time that's gone : 
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain 
Makes not fresh nor grow again jt 
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully ; 
Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see : 
Joys as winged dreams fly fast, 
Why should sadness longer last? 
Grief is but a wound to woe ; 
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo. 

THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 



THE HEALTHINESS OF MIETH. 

>r PIS mirth that fills the veins with blood, 

■*■ More than wine, or sleep, or food; 
Let each man keep his heart at ease ; 
No man dies of that disease. 
He that would his body keep 
From diseases, must not weep; 
But whoever laughs and sings, 
Never he his body brings 
Into fevers, gouts, or rheums, 
Or lingeringly his lungs consumes; 
Or meets with aches in his bone, 
Or catarrhs, or griping stone : 
But contented lives for aye ; 
The more he laughs, the more he may. 

* Ascribed to Fletcher, 
f This most exquisite passage is thus embodied by Bishop Percy in 
his ballad of The Friar of Orders Grey: 

■ ' Weep no more, lady, weep no more ; 
Thy sorrow is in vain : 
For violets plucked the sweetest showers 
Will ne'er make grow again.' 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 153 



DIKQE FOE THE FAITHFUL LOVER. 

COME, yon whose loves are dead, 
And, whiles I sing, 
Weep, and wring 
Every hand, and every head 
Bind with cypress and sad yew; 
Ribbons black and candles blue 
For him that was of men most true ! 

Come with heavy moaning, 

And on his grave 

Let him have 
Sacrifice of sighs and groaning ; 
Let him have fair flowers enow, 
White and purple, green and yellow, 
For him that was of men most true ! 

LIVE WELL AND BE IDLE. 

I WOULD not be a serving-man 
To carry the cloak-bag still, 
Nor would I be a falconer 

The greedy hawks to fill; 
But I would be in a good house, 
And have a good master too ; 
But I would eat and drink of the best, 
And no work would I do. 

JILLIAN" OF BEREY. 

Tj^OR Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill, 
-*- And she hath good beer and ale to sell, 
And of good fellows she thinks no ill, t 
And thither will we go now, now, now, 

And thither we will go now. 
And when you have made a little stay, 
You need not ask what is to pay, 
But kiss your hostess, and go your way ; 

And thither, &c. 



154 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE SONG- OF MAT-DAY. 

LONDON, to thee I do present 
The merry month of May ; 
Let each true subject be content 

To hear me what I say : 
For from the top of conduit-head, 

As plainly may appear, 
I will both tell my name to you, 

And wherefore I came here. 
My name is Ralph, by due descent, 

Though not ignoble I, 
Yet far inferior to the flock 

Of gracious grocery ; 
And by the common counsel of 

My fellows in the Strand, 
With gilded staff and crossed scarf, 

The May-lord here I stand. 
Rejoice, oh, English hearts, rejoice ! 

Rejoice, oh, lovers dear! 
Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country, 

Rejoice eke every shire! 
For now the fragrant flowers do spring 

And sprout in seemly sort, 
The little birds do sit and sing, 

The lambs do make fine sport; 
And now the birchen-tree doth bud, 

That makes the schoolboy cry; 
The morris rings, while hobby-horse 

Doth foot it feateously; 
The lords and ladies now abroad, 

F,pr their disport and play, 
Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, 

And sometimes in the hay. 
Now butter with a leaf of sage 

Is good to purge the blood ; 
Fly Venus and phlebotomy, 

For they are neither good ! 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 155 

Now little fish on tender stone 

Begin to cast their bellies, 
And sluggish snails, that erst were mewed, 

Do creep out of their shellies ; 
The rumbling rivers now do warm, 

For little boys to paddle ; 
The sturdy steed now goes to grass, 

And up they hang his saddle ; 
The heavy hart, the blowing buck, 

The rascal, and the pricket, 
Are now among the yeoman's pease, 

And leave the fearful thicket ; 
And be like them, oh, you, I say, 

Of this same noble town, 
And lift aloft your velvet heads, 

And slipping off your gown, 
"With bells on legs, and napkins clean 

Unto your shoulders tied, 
With scarfs and garters as you please, 

And * Hey for our town !' cried, 
March out, and shew your willing minds, 

By twenty and by twenty, 
To Hogsdon, or to Newington, 

Where ale and cakes are plenty ; 
And let it ne'er be said for shame, 

That we the youths of London 
Lay thrumming of our caps at home, 

And left our custom undone. 
Up then, I say, both young and old, 

Both man and maid a-maying, 
With drums and guns that bounce aloud, 

And merry tabor playing ! 
Which to prolong, God save our king, 

Amd send his country peace, 
And root out treason from the land ! 

And so, my friends, I cease. 



156 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE MAID IN THE MILL.* 



LET THE MILL GO BOTJlST). 

VT OW having leisure, and a happy wind, 
■*-* Thou mayst at pleasure cause the stones to grind ; 
Sails spread, and grist have ready to be ground ; 
Fy, stand not idly, but let the mill go round ! 

How long shall I pine for love? 

How long shall I sue in vain? 
How long like the turtle-dove, 

Shall I heavily thus complain? 
Shall the sails of my love stand still? 

Shall the grist of my hopes be unground? 
Ohfy, ohfy, ohfy! 

Let the mill, let the mill go round ! 

WOMEN PLEASED. 



THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 

OH, fair sweet face ! oh. eyes celestial bright, 
Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the night ! 
Oh, fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow, 
And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow ! 
Oh thou, from head to foot divinely fair ! 
Cupid's most cunning net's made of that hair; 
And, as he weaves himself for curious eyes, 
' Oh me, oh me, I'm caught myself!' he cries : 
Sweet rest about thee, sweet and golden sleep, 
Soft peaceful thoughts your hourly watches keep, 
Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice, 
To beauty sacred, and those angel eyes ! 

WHAT WOMEN MOST DESIEE. 

Question. T^ELL me what is that only thing 
J- For which all women long; 
Yet having what they most desire, 
To have it does them wrong? 

* The joint production of Fletcher and W. Kowley. 



I 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 157 

Amwer. 'Tis not to be chaste, nor fair, 
(Such gifts malice may impair,) 
Richly trimmed, to walk or ride, 
Or to wanton unespied; 
To preserve an honest name, 
And so to give it up to fame ; 
These are toys. In good or ill 
They desire to have their will : 
Yet, when they have it, they abuse it, 
For they know not how to use it.* 



CUPIDS REVENGE. 



SACRIFICE TO CUPID. 



COME, my children, let your feet 
In an even measure meet, 
And your cheerful voices rise, 
To present this sacrifice 
To great Cupid, in whose name, 
I his priest begin the same. 
Young men, take your loves and kiss; 
Thus our Cupid honored is ; 
Kiss again, and in your kissing 
Let no promises be missing; 
Nor let any maiden here 
Dare to turn away her ear 
Unto the whisper of her love, 
But give bracelet, ring, or glove, 
As a token to her sweeting, 
Of an after secret meeting. 
Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts 
fuller of great Cupid's darts. 



* This solution of the question is to he found in the Wife of Bath's 
Tale, and, doubtless, was a common saw from time immemorial. But 
Chaucer spares the ladies the ungallant commentary with which the 
song closes. 

THE DRAMATISTS. 11 



158 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



LOVERS EEJOICE ! 

|~ OVERS, rejoice! your pains shall be rewarded, 
•*-* The god of love himself grieves at your crying ; 
No more shall frozen honor be regarded, 
Nor the coy faces of a maid denying. 
No more shall virgins sigh, and say ' We dare not, 
' For men are false, and what they do they care not.' 
All shall be well again ; then do not grieve ; 
Men shall be true, and women shall believe. 

Lovers, rejoice! what you shall say henceforth, 
When you have caught your sweethearts in your arms, 
It shall be accounted oracle and worth ; 
No more faint-hearted girls shall dream of harms, 
And cry ' They are too young' ; the god hath said, 
Fifteen shall make a mother of a maid : 
Then, wise men, pull your roses yet unblown; 
Love hates the too-ripe fruit that falls alone. 



PEATEB TO CUPID. 

CUPID, pardon what is past, 
And forgive our sins at last ! 
Then we will be coy no more, 
But thy deity adore; 
Troths at fifteen we will plight, 
And will tread a dance each night, 
In the fields, or by the fire, 
With the youths that have desire. 
Given ear-rings we will wear, 
Bracelets of our lovers' hair, 
Which they on our arms shall twist, 
With their names carved, on our wrist; 
All the money that we owe* 
We in tokens will bestow; 



* Own — possess. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 159 

And learn to write that, when 'tis sent, 
Only our loves know what is meant. 

Oh, then pardon what is past, 

And forgive our sins at last ! 



THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.* 



A BEIDAL SONO. 

"D OSES, their sharp spines being gone, 
-*-*' Not royal in their smells alone, 

But in their hue ; 
Maiden-pinks, of odour faint, 
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 

And sweet thyme true ; 

Primrose, first-born child of Yer, 
Merry spring-time's harbinger, 

With her bells dim; 
Oxlips in their cradles growing, 
Marigolds on death-beds blowing, 

Lark-heels trim. 

All, dear Nature's children sweet, 
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, 

Blessing their sense ! 
Not an angel of the air, 
Bird melodious, or bird fair, 

Be absent hence ! 

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,t 



* Stated in the first 4to edition, i<534, to be the joint production oi 
Fletcher and Shakespeare, 
f In the old editions, this line runs — 

' The boding raven, nor clough he ;' 
Mr. Seward altered it as above, to respond to the rhyme and the 
sense. There is some difficulty in accepting the original reading. 
CUmgh means a break or valley in the side of a hill, and the poet is 

11—2 



160 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Nor chattering pie, 
May on our bride-house perch or sing, 
Or with them any discord bring, 

But from it fly ! 

THE DIRGE OF THE THEEE KINGS. 

JTRNS and odours bring away ! 

^ Vapours, sighs, darken the day ! 
Our dole more deadly looks than dying; 

Balms, and gums, and heavy cheers, 

Sacred vials filled with tears, 
And clamours through the wild air flying! 

Come, all sad and solemn shows, 
That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes ! 
We convent nought else but woes. 

THE JAILOR'S DAUGHTER. 

FOB- I'll cut my green coat, a foot above my knee ; 
And I'll clip my yellow locks, an inch below mine 
Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. [eye. 

He's buy me a white cut, forth for to ride, 
And I'll go seek him through the world that is so wide : 
Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. 

THE WOMAN-HATER. 



INVOCATION TO SLEEP. 

COME, Sleep, and, with thy sweet deceiving, 
Lock me in delight awhile; 
Let some pleasing dreams beguile 
All my fancies ; that from thence 
I may feel an influence, 
All my powers of care bereaving ! 

here enumerating the birds that are not to be permitted to perch or 
sing on the bride-house. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 161 

Though but a shadow, but a sliding, 

Let me know some little joy ! 

We that suffer long annoy 

Are contented with a thought, 

Through an idle fancy wrought : 
Oh, let my joys have some abiding ! 



THE NICE VALOUR; OR, THE PASSIONATE MADMAN.* 



LOVE, SHOOT MOEE! 

THOU deity, swift-winged Love, 
Sometimes below, sometimes above, 
Little in shape, but great in power; 
Thou that makest a heart thy tower, 
And thy loop-holes ladies' eyes, 
From whence thou strikest the fond and wise ; 
Did all the shafts in thy fair quiver 
Stick fast in my ambitious liver, 
Yet thy power would I adore, 
And call upon thee to shoot more, 
Shoot more, shoot more ! 



LOVE, SHOOT NO MAID AGAIN I 

GH, turn thy bow ! 
Thy power we feel and know; 
Fair Cupid, turn away thy bow! 
They be those golden arrows, 
Bring ladies all their sorrows; 
And 'till there be more truth in men, 
Never shoot at maid again ! 



* Ascribed to Fletcher. 



162 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



MELANCHOLY. 

HENCE, all you vain delights, 
As short as are the nights 

"Wherein you spend your folly ! 
There's nought in this life sweet, 
If man were wise to see't, 

But only melancholy, 

Oh, sweetest melancholy ! 
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
A sight that piercing mortifies, 
A look that's fastened to the ground, 
A tongue chained up without a sound ! 
Fountain heads, and pathless groves, 
Places which pale passion loves ! 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ! 

A midnight bell, a parting groan ! 

These are the sounds we feed upon; 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, 
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 



THE PASSIONATE LOED. 

A CURSE upon thee, for a slave ! 
Art thou here, and heardst me rave? 
Fly not sparkles from mine eye, 
To shew my indignation nigh? 
Am I not all foam and fire, 
With voice as hoarse as a town-crier? 
How my back opes and shuts together 
With fury, as old men's with weather ! 
Couldst thou not hear my teeth gnash hither? 
Death, hell, fiends, and darkness! 
I will thrash thy mangy carcase. 
There cannot be too many tortures 
Spent upon those lousy quarters. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 163 

Thou nasty, scurvy, mungrel toad, 

Mischief on thee ! 

Light upon thee 
All the plagues that can confound thee, 
Or did ever reign abroad ! 
Better a thousand lives it cost, 
Than have brave anger spilt or lost. 



LAUGHING SONG. 
[For several voices.'] 

OH, how my lungs do tickle ! ha, ha, ha. 
Oh, how my lungs do tickle ! ho, ho, ho, ho ! 

Set a sharp jest 

Against my breast, 
Then how my lungs do tickle ! 

As nightingales, 

And things in cambric rails, 
Sing best against a prickle.* 

Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho ! 
Laugh! Laugh! Laugh! Laugh! 
"Wide ! Loud ! And vary ! 
A smile is for a simpering novice, 
One that ne'er tasted caviare, 
Nor knows the smack of dear anchovies. 

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho ! 
A giggling waiting wench for me, 
That shows her teeth how white they be ! 



* A multitude of examples might be cited of the use of this favourite 
allusion by the old poets. Giles Fletcher assigns a reason for the 
painful pose of the nightingale while she is singing : 
* Ne ever lets sweet rest invade her eyes, 

But leaning on a thorn her dainty chest, 
For fear soft sleep should steal into her breast, 
Expresses in her song grief not to be expressed.' 

Christ's Victory. 



1G4 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

A thing not fit for gravity, 
For theirs are foul and hardly three. 
Ha, ha, ha! 
Ho, ho, ho ! 
Democritus, thou ancient fleerer, 

How I miss thy laugh, and ha' since !* 
There thou named the famous [est] jeerer, 

That e'er jeered in Rome or Athens. 
Ha, ha, ha ! 
Ho, ho, ho. 
How brave lives he that keeps a fool, 

Although the rate be deeper ! 
But he that is his own fool, sir, 

Does live a great deal cheaper. 
Sure I shall burst, burst, quite break, 

Thou art so witty. 
'Tis rare to break at court, 

For that belongs to the city. 
Ha, ha ! my spleen is almost worn 

To the last laughter. 
Oh, keep a corner for a friend ; 

A jest may come hereafter. 



THOMAS MIDDLETON. 

1570— 1627. 

[Me. Dyce conjectures that Thomas Middleton was bom 
about 1570. His father was settled in London, where the 
poet was born. The materials gathered for his biography are 
scanty. He seems to have been admitted a member of Gray's 
Inn, to have been twice married, and to have contributed 
numerous pieces to the stage, sometimes in connection with 



* Changed by Seward to 

' How I miss thy laugh, and ha-sense.' 
The change helps little towards clearing up the obscurity. 



THOMAS MIDDLETON. 165 

several of his contemporaries. He was appointed, in 1620, 
Chronologer to the City of London, and * Inventor of its 
honourable Entertainments.' In 1624, the Spanish ambas- 
sador having complained to the King that the persons of the 
King of Spain, Conde de Gondomar, and others were repre- 
sented upon the stage in ' a very scandalous comedy' called A 
Game at Chess, written by Middleton, the author and the 
actors were cited before the Privy Council. The actors 
appeared, and pleaded that the piece had been produced 
under the usual sanction of the Master of the Revels ; but 
Middleton, ' shifting out of the way, and not attending the 
board with the rest,' was ordered to be arrested, and a, war- 
rant was issued for his apprehension. The play was in the 
meanwhile suppressed, and for a certain time the actors were 
prohibited from appearing. Middleton afterwards submitted, 
but no further punishment appears to have been inflicted. 
At this time, Middleton resided at Newington Butts, where 
he died in 1627. 

Middleton may be fairly assigned a distinguished position 
amongst the dramatists of his period. His most conspicuous 
characteristics are a rich and natural humour and a poetical 
imagination. Nor was he deficient in passionate energy and 
pathos, although inferior in these qualities to some of his 
contemporaries.] 

BLURT, MASTER CONSTABLE;* OR, THE SPANIARD'S 
NIGHT-WALK. 

[First printed in 1603.] 



WHAT LOVE IS LIKE. 



LOVE is like a lamb, and love is like a lion; 
Fly from love, lie fights ; fight, then does he fly on ; 
Love is all on fire, and yet is ever freezing ; 
Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing :t 



* A proverbial phrase. f Losing. 



lbb SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying ; 
Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying; 
Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing; 
Love indeed is anything, yet indeed is nothing. 

pity, pity, pity! 

piTY, pity, pity! 
J- Pity, pity, pity ! 
That word begins that ends a true-love ditty. 
Your blessed eyes, like a pair of suns, 

Shine in the sphere of smiling ; 
Your pretty lips, like a pair of doves, 
Are kisses still compiling. 
Mercy hangs upon your brow like a precious jewel: 
O, let not then, 
Most lovely maid, best to be loved of men, 
Marble lie upon your heart, that will make you cruel ! 
Pity, pity, pity ! 
Pity, pity, pity ! 
That word begins that ends a true-love ditty. 

CHEEKY LIP AND WANTON EYE. 

LOYE for such a cherry lip 
Would be glad to pawn his arrows; 
Yenus here to take a sip 

Would sell her doves and team of sparrows. 
But they shall not so ; 

Hey nonny, nonny no ! 
None but I this life must owe; 
Hey nonny, nonny no ! 

Did Jove see this wanton eye, 

Ganymede must wait no longer; 
Phoebe here one night did lie," 

Would change her face and look much younger. 

* Mr. Dyce changes the line to — 

' Did Phoebe here one night lie,' 
obtaining the sense at the cost of the melody. 



THOMAS MIDDLETON. 167 

But they shall not so; 

Hey nonny, nonny no ! 
None but I this life must owe ; 

Hey nonny, nonny no ! 

A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS. 
[Licensed and first printed in 1608.] 



BACCHANALIAN CATCH. 



OFOE, a bowl of fat canary, 
Rich Aristippus, sparkling sherry! 
Some nectar else from Juno's dairy; 
O these draughts would make us merry ! 

O for a wench ! I deal in faces, 
And in other daintier things ; 
Tickled am I with her embraces ; 
Fine dancing in such fairy rings ! 

O for a plump, fat leg of mutton, 
Veal, lamb, capon, pig, and coney ! 
None is happy but a glutton, 
None an ass, but who wants money. 

Wines, indeed, and girls are good ; 
But brave victuals feast the blood ; 
For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer, 
Jove would come down to surfeit here.* 



* The authorship of this song is doubtful. It was printed for the 
first time in the Alexander and Campaspe of Lyly appended to the edition 
of 1 63a, and is not to be found in the earlier editions, the first of which 
appeared in 1584. That it did not originally belong to A Mad 
World, my Masters, is clear from this circumstance, the first edition of 
that play having been published in 1608; but it was added to the 
second edition in 1640. The probability is that it was not written by 
either Lyly or Middleton; but, if by either, the evidence is in favourof 
the latter, as Lyly was dead many years before 1 63a, when the song 
was first printed, and Middleton was certainly alive a few years before 
that time. Mr. Dyce, who prints it at the end of Middleton's play from 
the edition of 1640, does not appear to have been aware that it had 
previously been printed in Lyly's Alexander and Campaspe. 



168 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



THE WITCH. 



THE THEEE STATES OE WOMAN. 

TNa maiden-time professed, 
-*- Then we say that life is blessed; 
Tasting once the married life, 
Then we only praise the wife ; 
There's but one state more to try, 
Which makes women laugh or cry — 
Widow, widow : of these three 
The middle's best, and that give me. 

HECATE AND THE WITCHES. 

Voices above. /^OME away, come away, 

^ Hecate, Hecate, come away 
Hecate. I come, I come, I come, I come, 
With all the speed I may, 
With all the speed I may. 
Where's Stadlin 1 ? 
Voice above. Here. 

Hecate. Where's Puckle] 
Voice above. Here 

And Hoppo too, and Hellwain too; 
We lack but you, we lack but you; 
Come away, make up the count. 
Hecate. I will but 'noint, and then I mount. 

[A spirit like a cat descends. 
Voice above. There's one comes down to fetch his dues, 
A- kiss, a coll, a sip of blood ; 
And why thou stayest so long 

I muse, I muse, 
Since the air's so sweet and good. 
Hecate. O, art thou come? 

What news, what news 1 
Spirit. All goes still to our delight : 
Either come, or else 
Refuse, refuse. 
Hecate. Now I'm furnished for the flight 



THOMAS MIDDLETON. 169 

Now I go, now I fly, 

Malkin my sweet spirit and I. 

O what a dainty pleasure 'tis 

To ride in the air 

When the moon shines fair, 

And sing and dance, and toy and kiss ! 

Over woods, high rocks, and mountains, 

Over seas, our mistress' fountains, 

Over steeples, towers, and turrets, 

We fly by night, 'mongst troops of spirits : 

No ring of bells to our ears sounds, 

No howls of wolves, no yelps of hounds ; 

No, not the noise of water's breach, 

Or cannon's throat our height can reach. 



THE CHASM. 

BLACK spirits and white, red spirits and gray, 
Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may ! 

Titty, Tiffin, 

Keep it stiff in; 

Firedrake, Puckey, 

Make it lucky ; 

Liard, Robin, 

You must bob in. 
Round, around, around, about, about ! 
All ill come running in, all good keep out ! 
Here's the blood of a bat. 
Put in that, put in that ! 
Here's libbard's bane. 
Put in again! 

The juice of toad, the oil of adder; 
Those will make the younker madder. 
Put in — there's all — and rid the stench. 
Nay, here's three ounces of the red-haired wench. 
Round, around, around, about, about !* 

* The similarity between these passages and the witch scenes in 
Macbeth is too close to admit of a doubt that Shakespeare borrowed 
from Middleton, or Hiddleton from Shakespeare. Which play was 



170 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN. 

[In i6z3 this comedy was entered by Sir Henry Herbert as an 1 old 
play.' It was first printed in i65?.] 



SONG OF THE GIPSIES. 

/^OME, my dainty doxies, 

^ My dells,* my dells most dear; 

We have neither house nor land, 

Yet never want good cheer. 

We never want good cheer. 

We take no care for candle rents, 
We lie, we snort, we sport in tents, 
Then rouse betimes and steal our dinners. 

Our store is never taken 

Without pigs, hens, or bacon, 
And that's good meat for sinners : 

At wakes and fairs we cozen 

Poor country folk by dozen; 
If one have money, he disburses ; 
Whilst some tell fortunes, some pick purses; 

Hather than be out of use, 

We'll steal garters, hose, or shoes, 
Boots, or spurs with gingling rowels, 
Shirts or napkins, smocks or towels. 

Come live with us, come live with us, 



produced first is an open question. Steevens and Gifford assign the 
priority to Middleton, Malone to Shakespeare. Mr. Dyce objects to 
Mr. Gifford that he adduces no evidence to show that the Witch was 
anterior to Macbeth. ; but, so far as his own opinion is concerned, leaves 
the question where he found it. Lamb, in a subtle and discriminating 
criticism, says that the coincidence does not detract much from the 
originality of Shakespeare (supposing Middleton to have preceded him), 
because his witches are distinguished from those of Middleton by es- 
sential differences. This is quite true. But it should be observed that 
it is not in these essential differences, which lie in the elements of 
character, and not in forms of expression, that the resemblance con- 
sists ; and that the fact of direct imitation in the conception and poetical 
treatment of the Charms and Incantations remains unaffected. 
* A cant term for an undefiled girl. 



MIDDLETON AND EOWLEY. 

All you that love your eases ; 
He that's a gipsy 
May be drunk or tipsy 
At any hour he pleases. 
We laugh, we quaff, we roar, we scuffle ; 
We cheat, we drab, we filch, we shuffle. 

A CHASTE MAID IN CHEAPSIDE. 

[First ■printed in 1630.] 



171 



THE PAETING OP LOVEKS. 

TT7EEP eyes, break heart ! 

* ' My love and I must part. 
Cruel fates true love do soonest sever ; 
O, I shall see thee never, never, never ! 



O, happy is the maid whose life takes end 
Ere it knows parent's frown or loss of friend! 
Weep eyes, break heart ! 
My love and I must part. 



THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WILLIAM EOWLEY. 

[William Eowley was an actor in the Prince of Wales's 
company in the reign of James I. In addition to some plays 
of which he was the sole author, his name appears attached 
to several others, in conjunction with those of Middleton, 
Webster, Massinger, Thomas Heywood, Day, Wilkins, Ford, 
and Fletcher ; and in one instance Shakespeare is said to have 
assisted him.] 

THE SPANISH GIPSY. 

[This piece was played at court about i6z3 or i624,but the date of its first 
production in the theatre is not known. It was first printed in i<5530 



TRIP it, gipsies, trip it fine, 
Show tricks and lofty capers ; 



172 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

At threading-needles* we repine, 

And leaping over rapiers : 
Pindy pandy rascal toys ! 

We scorn cutting purses ; 
Though we live by making noise, 

For cheating none can curse us. 

Over high ways, over low, 

And over stones and gravel, 
Though we trip it on the toe, 

And thus for silver travel ; 
Though our dances waste our backs, 

At night fat capons mend them, 
Eggs well brewed in buttered sack, 

Our wenches say befriend them. 

Oh that all the world were mad ! 

Then should we have fine dancing; 
Hobby-horses would be had, 

And brave girls keep a-prancing ; 
Beggars would on cock-horse ride, 
. And boobies fall a-roaring ; 
And cuckolds, though no horns be spied, 

Be one another goring. 

"Welcome, poet to our ging ! t 

Make rhymes, we'll give thee reason, 
Canary bees thy brains shall sting, 

Mull-sack did ne'er speak treason; 
Peter-see-me £ shall wash thy nowl, 

And Malaga glasses fox thee ; 
If, poet, thou toss not bowl for bowl, 

Thou shalt not kiss a doxy. 



An old pastime. t Gang. J See Note, p 144- 



MIDDLETON AND ROWLEY. 173 



THE GIPSY ROUT. 

COME, follow your leader, follow. 
Our convoy be Mars and Apollo ; 
The van comes brave up here ; 
As hotly comes the rear. 

Our knackers are the fifes and drums, 
Sa, sa, the gipsies' army comes ! 

Horsemen we need not fear, 
There's none but footmen here ; 
The horse sure charge without; 
Or if they wheel about, 

Our knackers are the shot that fly, 

Pit-a-pat rattling in the sky. 

If once the great ordnance play, 

That's laughing, yet run not away, 

But stand the push of pike, 

Scorn can but basely strike ; 

Then let our armies join and sing, 
And pit-a-pat make our knackers ring. 

Arm, arm ! what bands are those 1 

They cannot be sure our foes; 

We'll not draw up our force, 

Nor muster any horse ; 

For since they pleased to view our sight, 
Let's this way, this way, give delight. 

A council of war let's call, 

Look either to stand or fall ; 

If our weak army stands, 

Thank all these noble hands; 

Whose gates of love being open thrown, 
We enter, and then the town's our own. 



THE DRAMATISTS. 12 



174 soxgs from: the dramatists. 



THE GIPSY'S OATH. 

rPHY best hand lay on this tnrf of grass, 
-■- There thy heart lies, vow not to pass 
From us two years for sun nor snow, 
For hill nor dale, howe'er winds blow j 
Yow the hard earth to be thy bed, 
With her green cushions under thy head; 
Flower-banks or moss to be thy board, 
Water thy wine — and drink like a lord. 

Kings can have but coronations ; 

We are as proud of gipsy fashions ; 

Dance, sing, and in a well-mixed border, 

Close this new brother of our order. 

What we get with us come share, 
You to get must vow to care ; 
Nor strike gipsy, nor stand by 
When strangers strike, but fight or die ; 
Our gipsy-wenches are not common, 
You must not kiss a fellow's leman ; 
Nor to your own, for one you must, 
In songs send errands of base lust. 

Dance, sing, and in a well-mixed border 
Close this new brother of our order. 

Set foot to foot ; those garlands hold, 

Now mark [well] what more is told; 

By cross arms, the lover's sign, 

Yow as these flowers themselves entwine, 

Of April's wealth building a throne 

Round, so your love to one or none ; 

By those touches of your feet, 

You must each night embracing meet, 

Chaste, howe'er disjoined by day; 

You the sun with her must play, 

She to you the marigold, 

To none but you her leaves unfold; 



MIDDLETOX AND ROWLEY. 175 

Wake she or sleep, your eyes so charm, 
Want, woe, nor weather do her harm. 
This is your market now of kisses, 
Buy and sell free each other blisses. 

Holidays, high days, gipsy-fairs, [pairs. 

When kisses are fairings, and hearts meet in 

THE GIPSY LIFE. 

BRAVE Don, cast your eyes on our gipsy fashions : 
In our antique hey de guize* we go beyond all 
nations ; 
Plump Dutch at us grutch, so do English, so do French ; 
He that lopest on the ropes, show me such another 
wench. 

We no camels have to show, nor elephant with growt J 
head; 

We can dance, he cannot go, because the beast is corn- 
fed; 

No blind bears shedding tears, for a collier's whipping ; 

Apes nor dogs, quick as frogs, over cudgels skipping, 

Jacks-in-boxes, nor decoys, puppets, nor such poor 

things, 
Nor are we those roaring boys that cozen fools with 

gilt rings ;§ 
For an ocean, not such a motion as the city Nineveh, 
Dancing, singing, and fine ringing, you these sports 

shall hear and see. 



* A country dance. t Leaps. t Great. 

§ Ring-dropping, a gulling trick, which consisted in dropping a 
paper of brass rings, washed over with gold, on the pavement, and 
picking it up in the presence of a person likely to be swindled into the 
purchase of them. It is one of the cheats upon countrymen described 
by Sir John Fielding, in the last century, in his Extracts from the 
Penal Laws, and is still practised in the streets of London. 



12—2 



17G SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



BEN JONSON, FLETCHER, AND MIDDLETON. 

THE WIDOW. 

[Acted about 1616. First printed 1 <55-J.] 



THE THIEVES SCCSTG. 

HOW round the world goes, and every thing that's 
in it! 

The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a minute : 

From the usurer to his sons, there a current swiftly 
runs; 

From the sons to queans in chief, from the gallant to 
the thief; 

From the thief unto his host, from the host to husband- 
men; 

From the country to the court ; and so it comes to us 
again. 

How round the world goes, and every thing that's in it ! 

The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a minute. 



THOMAS DEKKER. 

[An industrious dramatist in the reign of James I., chiefly 
distinguished by having been engaged in a literary quarrel 
with Ben Jonson, who satirized him under the name of 
Crispinus, an indignity for which Dekker took ample revenge 
in his Satiro-mastix ; or, the Untrussing of a Humorous 
Poet. Dekker must not be estimated from Jonson' s character 
of him. He wrote a great number of plays, and was joined 
in several by Webster, Ford, and others. His pieces are 
remarkably unequal. His plots are not always well chosen, 
and are generally careless in construction. But in occasional 
scenes he rises to an unexpected height of power, and exhibits 
a range of fancy that fairly entitles him to take rank with the 
majority of his contemporaries.] 



T. DEKKER AND R. WILSON. 177 

OLD FOETUNATUS. 

[First printed in 1600.] 



VIRTUE AND VICE. 



T7IE.TUE'S branches wither, virtue pines, 
* O pity ! pity ! and alack the time ! 
Vice doth flourish, vice in glory shines, 
Her gilded boughs above the cedar climb. 

Vice hath golden cheeks, O pity, pity ! 
She in every land doth monarchize : 
Virtue is exiled from every city, 
Virtue is a fool, Vice only wise. 

O pity, pity ! Virtue weeping dies ! 
Vice laughs to see her faint, alack the time ! 
This sinks ; with painted wings the other flies ; 
Alack, that best should fall, and bad should climb. 

O pity, pity, pity! mourn, not sing; 
Vice is a saint, Virtue an underling ; 
Vice doth flourish, Vice in glory shines, 
Virtue's branches wither, Virtue pines. 



T. DEKKER AND E. WILSON. 

[Wilson was an actor of humorous parts, and one of the boon 
companions over the ' Mermaid wine,' alluded to by Beaumont, 
in his verses to Ben Jonson : 

• Filled with such moisture, in most grievous qualms 
Did Robert Wilson write his singing psalms.' 

He was considered by Meres one of the best comedy- 
writers of his time. He wrote, however, only one entire 
piece, The Cobbler's Prophecy ; but assisted Chettle, Dekker, 
and others, in the composition of several.] 



178 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE SHOEMAKER'S HOLIDAY; OR, THE GENTLE 
CRAFT. 1594. 



THE SUMMER S QUEEN. 

f\ THE month of May, the merry month of May, 
^A So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so 
O, and then did I unto my true love say, [green ! 

Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. 

Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale, 
The sweetest singer in all the forest's quire, 
Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale: 
Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier. 

But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo ; 
See where she sitteth; come away, my joy: 
Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo 
Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy. 

O, the month of May, the merry month of May, 
So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green ; 
And then did I unto my true love say, 
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. 

SAINT HUGH ! 

COLD'S the wind, and wet's the rain, 
Saint Hugh be our good speed ! 
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain, 
Nor helps good hearts in need. 

Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl, 

And here kind mate to thee ! 
Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul, 

And down it merrily. 

Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down, 

Hey derry derry down-a-down. 
Ho ! well done, to me let come, 

Ring compass, gentle joy I 



DEKKER, CHETTLE, AND HAUGHTON. 179 

Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl, 

And here kind, &c. 

Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain, 

Saint Hugh ! be our good speed ; 
111 is the weather that bringeth no gain, 

Nor helps good hearts in need. 



THOMAS DEKKER, HENRY CHETTLE, AND 
WILLIAM HAUGHTON. 

[The names of Chettle and Haughton are attached to a great 
number of plays, generally in conjunction with those of other 
writers. It is difficult to determine their respective merits; 
but as far as any speculation may be founded upon such 
evidence of their independent labours as can be traced with 
certainty, Chettle had a more serious vein than Haughton, 
whose special force lay in comedy. How this joint authorship 
was conducted, we have no means of ascertaining. The 
likelihood is that in most cases there was one principal 
writer, with whom the subject may have originated, and 
that when he had completed his design, either as a sketch 
or a finished work, the others filled in, added, retrenched, or 
altered. If there be any weight in this supposition, the 
largest share in the comedy of Patient Grissell should perhaps 
be assigned to Dekker, whose name stands first of the three 
in the entry acknowledging a payment in earnest of the play, 
in Henslowe's Diary. 

The story of Patient Grissell was first thrown into a nar- 
rative shape by Boccaccio; and the earliest drama on the 
subject was brought upon the stage by the French, in 1393. 
About 1538, Richard Radcliffe, a schoolmaster in Hertford- 
shire, wrote a play called Patient Griselde, founded on 
Boccaccio, of which nothing has survived but the name. 
Dekker and his coadjutors may probably have been to some 



180 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

extent indebted to KadclifFe's production. The story, how- 
ever, was well-known, and existed in other shapes ; Chaucer 
having long before rendered it familiar to English readers 
in the Canterhury Tales. The date of the receipt in 
Henslowe's Diary — 19 December, 1599 — determines the date 
of the play from which the following songs are derived.] 

THE PLEASANT COMEDY OF PATIENT GRISSELL. 



SWEET CONTENT. 

A RT thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers] 
-£*- Oh, sweet content! 

Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? 

Oh, punishment! 
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ? 
O, sweet content! O, sweet, &c. 

Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 

Honest labour bears a lovely face; 

Then hey noney, noney, hey noney, noney. 

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? 
O, sweet content ! 
Swimmest thou in wealth, yet sinkest in thine 
O, punishment ! [own tears ? 

Then he that patiently want's burden bears, 
No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
O, sweet content ! &c. 

Work apace, apace, &c. 



GOLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes, 
Smiles awake you when you rise. 
Sleep, pretty wantons ; do not cry, 
And I will sing a lullaby : 
Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 



JOHN WEBSTER. 



181 



Care is heavy, therefore sleep you; 
You are care, and care must keep you. 
Sleep, pretty wantons ; do not cry, 
And I will sing a lullaby : 
Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 

BEAUTY, ARISE ! 

BEAUTY, arise, shew forth thy glorious shining; 
Thine eyes feed love, for them he standeth pining; 
Honour and youth attend to do their duty 
To thee, their only sovereign beauty. 
Beauty, arise, whilst we, thy servants, sing, 
Io to Hymen, wedlock's jocund king. 
Io to Hymen, Io, Io, sing, 
Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king. 

Beauty, arise, thy glorious lights display, 
Whilst we sing Io, glad to see this day. 

Io, Io, to Hymen, Io, Io, sing, 

Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king. 



JOHN WEBSTER. 

[In passionate energy and intensity of expression Webster 
resembles Marston and transcends him. He had a profounder 
dramatic power, and possessed a command over the sources of 
terror which none of our dramatists have exhibited so effec- 
tively. 'To move a terror skilfully,' observes Lamb, 'to 
touch a soul to the quick, to lay upon fear as much as it can 
bear, to wear and weary a life till it is ready to drop, and then 
step in with mortal instruments to take its last forfeit : this 
only a Webster can do. Writers of an inferior genius may 
' upon horror's head horrors accumulate,' but they cannot do 
this. They mistake quantity for quality, they ' terrify babies 
with painted devils,' but they know not how a soul is capable 
of being moved; their terrors want dignity, their affright- 



182 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

ments are without decorum.' This criticism refers specially 
to the Duchess of Malfy, but indicates generally that pecu- 
liar quality of Webster's genius which chiefly distinguishes 
him from his contemporaries. 

The earliest notice of Webster occurs in 1602. He is said 
to have been clerk of St. Andrew's, Holbom, and a member of 
the Merchants Tailors' Company; but Mr. Dyce could not 
discover any trace of his name, although he searched the re- 
gisters of the church, and the MSS. belonging to the Parish 
Clerk's Hall. In tracing, in his collected edition of Webster's 
works, the order of his productions, and examining every col- 
lateral question of authorship likely to throw any light upon 
his identity, Mr. Dyce has supplied all the information that 
can be obtained respecting him. It relates almost exclusively 
to his writings. His personal history is buried in obscurity.] 



THE WHITE DEVILj OR, VITTORIA COROMBONA. l6l2. 



A DIRGE. 

CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, 
Since o'er shady groves they hover, 
And with leaves and flowers do cover 
The friendless bodies of unburied men. 
Call unto his funeral dole 
The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, 
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, 
And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm ; 
But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, 
For with his nails he'll* dig them up again. 



* • I never saw anything like this Dirge, except the Ditty which 
reminds Ferdinand of his drowned Father in the l\mpest. As that is 
of the water, watery; so this is of the earth, earthy. Both have that 
intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into the elements 
which it contemplates.' — Lamb. 



JOHN WEBSTER. 



183 



THE DUCHESS OF MALFY. 1623. 



THE MADMAN S SONG. 

OLET us howl some heavy note, 
5 Some deadly dogged howl, 
Sounding, as from the threatning throat 

Of beasts and fatal fowl ! 
As ravens, screech-owls, bulls and bears, 

We'll bell, and bawl our parts, 
'Till irksome noise have cloyed your ears, 

And corrosived your hearts. 
At last, whenas our quire wants breath, 

Our bodies being blessed, 
We'll sing, like swans, will welcome death, 

And die in love and rest. 

THE PREPARATION FOR EXECUTION. 

HARK, now everything is still, 
The screech-owl, and the whistler shrill, 
Call upon our dame aloud, 
And bid her quickly don her shroud ! 
Much you had of land and rent ; 
Your length in clay's now competent : 
A long war disturbed your mind ; 
Here your perfect peace is signed. 
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping? 
Since their conception, their birth weeping, 
Their life a general mist of error, 
Their death, a hideous storm of terror. 
Strew your hair with powders sweet, 
Don clean linen, bathe your feet, 
And (the foul fiend more to check,) 
A crucifix let bless your neck : 
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; 
End your groan, and come away. 



184: SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

JOHN WEBSTER AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. 
THE THRACIAN WONDER. l66l. 



WOMAN S LOVE. 



1" OVE is a law, a discord of such force, 
-■^ That 'twixt our sense and reason makes divorce ; 
Love's a desire, that to obtain betime, 
We lose an age of years plucked from our prime ; 
Love is a thing to which we soon consent, 
As soon refuse, but sooner far repent. 

Then what must women be, that are the cause 
That love hath life 1 ? that lovers feel such laws? 
They're like the winds upon LepanthaVs shore, 
That still are changing : O, then love no more ! 
A woman's love is like that Syrian flower, 
That buds, and spreads, and withers in an hour. 



LOVE MUST HAVE LOVE. 

T CARE not for these idle toys, 
-*- That must be wooed and prayed to 
Come, sweet love, let's use the joys 
That men and women used to do. 

The first man had a woman 
Created for his use you know ; 
Then never seek so close to keep 
A jewel of a price so low. 

Delay in love's a lingering pain, 
That never can be cured ; 
Unless that love have love again, 
'Tis not to be endured. 



WEBSTER AxiD ROWLEY. 185 



THE PUKSUIT OF LOVE. 

ART thou gone in haste? 
I'll not forsake thee ; 
Runnest thou ne'er so fast, 

I'll overtake thee : 
Over the dales, over the downs, 
Through the green meadows, 
From the fields through the towns, 
To the dim shadows. 

All along the plain, 

To the low fountains, 
Up and down again 

From the high mountains; 
Echo then shall again 

Tell her I foUow, 
And the floods to the woods, 

Carry my holla, holla ! 

Ce! la! ho! ho! hu! 

THE SONG OP JANUAKT. 

NOW does jolly Janus greet your merriment; 
For since the world's creation, 
I never changed my fashion ; 
'Tis good enough to fence the cold : 
My hatchet serves to cut my firing yearly, 
My bowl preserves the juice of grape and barley : 
Fire, wine, and strong beer, make me live so long here 
To give the merry new year a welcome in. 

All the potent powers of plenty wait upon 

You that intend to be frolic to-day : 

To Bacchus I commend ye, and Ceres eke attend ye, 

To keep encroaching cares away. 

That Boreas' blasts may never blow to harm you; 

Nor Hyems' frost, but give you cause to warm you : 

Old father Janevere drinks a health to all here, 

To give the merry new year a welcome in. 



186 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



THE DEPARTURE OF JANUARY. 

CINCE you desire my absence; 
^ I will depart this green ; 
Though loath to leave the presence 

Of such a lovely queen : 
Whose beauty, like the sun, 

Melts all my frost away ; 
And now, instead of winter, 

Behold a youthful May. 



HOMAGE TO LOVE. 

LOYE'S a lovely lad 
His bringing-up is beauty; 
Who loves him not is mad, 
For I must pay him duty; 
Now I'm sad. 

Hail to those sweet eyes, 
That shine celestial wonder; 

From thence do names arise, 
Burn my poor heart asunder. 
Now it fries. 

Cupid sets a crown 

Upon those lovely tresses ; 
0, spoil not with a frown 

What he so sweetly dresses ! 
I'll sit down. 



HEIGH, HEIGHO ! 

WHITHER shall I go, 
To escape your folly? 
For now there's love I know, 
Or else 'tis melancholy : 

Heigh, heigho ! 



WEBSTER AND ROWLEY. 187 

Yonder lies the snow, 

But my heart cannot melt it : 
Love shoots from his bow, 

And my poor heart hath felt it. 
Heigh, heigho! 



ILL NEVER LOVE MORE. 

OSTAY, O turn, O pity me 
That sighs, that sues for love of thee ! 
O lack ! I never loved before ; 
If you deny, I'll never love more. 

No hope, no help ! then wretched I 
Must lose, must lack, must pine, and die ; 
Since you neglect when I implore. 
Farewell, hard, I'll ne'er love more. 

BEWARE OF LOVE. 

HP HERE is not any wise man, 
-*- That fancy can a woman ; 
Then never turn your eyes on 
A thing that is so common : 
For be they foul or fair, 
They tempting devils are, 
Since they first fell; 
They that love do live in hell, 
And therefore, men, beware. 

OUT UPON YE ALL! 

"C'OOLISH, idle toys, 

-*- That nature gave unto us, 

But to curb our joys, 

And only to undo us ; 

For since Lucretia's fall, 

There are none chaste at all ; 



188 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Or if perchance there be 
One in an empery, 
Some other malady- 
Makes her far worse than she. 
Out upon ye all! 

'Twere too much to tell 
The follies that attend ye ; 
He must love you well 
That can but discommend ye; 
For your deserts are such, 
Man cannot rail too much; 
Nor is the world so blind, 
But it may easily find 
The body, or the mind, 
Tainted in womankind. 

O, the devil take you all ! 

INVOCATION TO APOLLO. 

FAIR Apollo, whose bright beams 
Cheer all the world below : 
The birds that sing, the plants that spring, 
The herbs and flowers that grow : 
0, lend thy aid to a swain sore oppressed, 
That his mind 
Soon may find 
The delight that sense admits ! 
And by a maid let his harms be redressed, 
That no pain 
Do remain 
In his mind to offend his wits ! 



SAMUEL ROWLEY. 

[One of the players in the establishment of the Prince of 
Wales, and included in the list of Henslowe's authors. His 
principal pieces are the play from which the following song is 



THOMAS GOFFE. 189 

taken, and a comedy called WJien you see me you know me. 
He also assisted other writers in some of the Moral Plays.] 

THE NOBLE SPANISH SOLDIER. 1634. 



SOEEOW. 

AH, sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell? 
^ In the lowest room of hell. 
Art thou born of human race ? 
No, no, I have a furier face. 
Art thou in city, town, or court? 

I to every place resort. 
Oh, why into the world is sorrow sent? 

Men afflicted best repent. 
What dost thou feed on? 

Broken sleep. 
What takest thou pleasure in? 
To weep, 

To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan, 
To wring my hands, to sit alone. 
Ob when, oh when shall sorrow quiet have ? 
Never, never, never, never. 
Never till she finds a grave. 



THOMAS GOFFE. 
1592 — 1627. 
[Thomas Goffe was born in Essex, about 1592, and edu- 
cated at Westminster. In 1609 he entered Christ Church, 
Oxford, and having had the degree of bachelor of divinity 
conferred upon him, was preferred to the living of East 
Clandon, in Surrey, in 1623. He is said to have been a pro- 
fessed woman-hater, yet, notwithstanding, married the wife 
of his predecessor, who revenged the wrongs of the whole sex 
upon him by the violence of her temper, and finally, it is sup- 
posed, shortened his life. He died in 1627. He was the 
author of four dramas, and is believed in the latter part of his 
life to have embraced the church of Rome.] 

THE DEAMATISTS. 13 



190 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

ORESTES. 1633. 



NURSE S SONG 

LULLABY, lullaby, baby, 
Great Argos' joy, 
The King of Greece thou art bom to be, 
In despite of Troy. 
Rest ever wait upon thy head, 
Sleep close thine eyes, 
The blessed guard tend on thy bed 

Of deities. 
O, how this brow will beseem a crown ! 
How these locks will shine ! 
Like the rays of the sun on the ground, 
These locks of thine ! 
The nurse of heaven will send thee milk ; 
Mayst thou suck a Queen. 
Thy drink love's nectar, and clothes of silk ; 
A god mayst thou seem. 
Cupid sit on this rosean cheek, 

On these ruby lips. 
May thy mind like a lamb be meek, 

In the vales which trips. 
Lullaby, lullaby, baby, &c. 



THE MADNESS OP ORESTES. 

TX7EEP, weep, you Argonauts, 

* * Bewail the day 
That first to fatal Troy 
You took your way. 
Weep, Greece, weep, Greece, 
Two kings are dead. 
Argos, thou Argos, now a grave 
"Where kings are buried; 
No heir, no heir is left, 



THOMAS GOFFE. 

But one that's mad. 

See, Argos, hast not thou 

Cause to be sad? 

Sleep, sleep, wild brain, 

Rest, rock thy sense, 

Live if thou canst 

To grieve for thy offence. 

Weep, weep, you Argonauts ! 

THE CARELESS SHEPHERDESS. 1656. 



191 



THE FOLLY OF LOVE. 

"Vf"OW fie on love, it ill befits, 

■L* Or man and woman know it, 

Love was not meant for people in their wits, 

And they that fondly show it 
Betray their too much feathered brains, 
And shall have only Bedlam for their pains. 

To love is to distract my sleep, 

And waking to wear fetters ; 
To love is but to go to school to weep ; 

I'll leave it for my betters. 
If single love be such a curse, 
To marry is to make it ten times worse. 

THE TYRANNY OF CUPID. 

BLIND Cupid lay aside thy bow, 
Thou dost not know its use, 
For love, thou tyranny dost show, 
Thy kindness is abuse. 

Thou wert called a pretty boy, 

Art thought a skeleton, 
For thou like death dost still destroy, 

When thou dost strike but one. 

13-2 



192 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Each vulgar hand can do as much; 

Thine heavenly skill we see 
When we behold one arrow touch 

Two marks that distant be. 

Love always looks for love again, 
If ever thou wound man's heart, 

Pierce by the way his rib, and then 
He'll kiss, not curse thy dart. 

LOVE WITHOUT EETUEN. 

r^ RIEVE not, fond man, nor let one tear 
^-* Steal from thine eyes ; she'll hear 
No more of Cupid's shafts ; they fly 
Eor wounding her, so let them die. 
For why shouldst thou nourish such flames as burn 
Thy easy breast, and not have like return] 
Love forces love, as flames expire 
If not increased by gentle fire. 

Let then her frigid coolness move 

Thee to withdraw thy purer love; 

And since she is resolved to show 

She will not love, do thou so too : 
For why should beauty so charm thine eyes, 
That if she frown, thou'lt prove her sacrifice? 
Love, &c. 



CHETTLE AND MUNDAY. 

THE DEATH OF ROBERT, EARL OF HUNTINGDON. 



THE DEATH OF KOBIN HOOD. 

TXTEEP, weep, ye woodmen wail, 

' * Your hands with sorrow wring ; 
Your master Robin Hood lies dead, 
Therefore sigh as you sing. 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. 193 

Here lie his primer and his beads, 
His bent bow and his arrows keen, 
His good sword and his holy cross : 
Now cast on flowers fresh and green ; 

And as they fall shed tears and say, 
Wella, wella-day, wella, wella-day : 
Thus cast ye flowers and sing, 
And on to Wakefield take your way. 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. 

15— 16—. 

[' Heywood,' says Charles Lamb, ' is a sort of prose Shake- 
speare, his scenes are to the full as natural and affecting. But 
we miss the poet, that which in Shakespeare always appears 
out and above the surface of the nature. Heywood's cha- 
racters, his country gentlemen, &c, are exactly what we see 
(but of the best kind of what we see) in life. Shakespeare 
makes us believe, while we are among his lovely creations, that 
we see nothing but what we are familiar with, as in dreams 
new things seem old; but we awake, and sigh for the dif- 
ference.' The test to which this comparison subjects the 
writings of Heywood is a severe one; but he conies out of it 
with credit. Considering how much he wrote, and the cir- 
cumstances under which he appears to have written, it is no 
slight merit to have produced scenes as natural and affecting, 
and characters as true to life as those of Shakespeare, even 
without the power of idealizing his conceptions. Of all our 
dramatic writers he was the most voluminous, having been 
concerned in no less than two hundred and twenty dramatic 
pieces, besides his Apology for Actors, and other works. It 
was only by the most persevering and systematic industry 
such a prodigious quantity of labour could have been accom- 
plished, and Kirkman says that he ' not only acted almost 



194 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

every day, but obliged himself to write a sheet every day for 
several years together.' Many of his plays were written in 
this way in taverns. ' As one proof of the rapidity of his 
composition,' observes the last editor of Dodsley, ' it may be 
mentioned that at the end of his Nine Boohs of Various 
History concerning Women, a folio of 466 pages, printed in 
1624, are the following words: Opus excogitatum,inchoatum, 
explicitum et typographo excusu'm inter septemdecem septi- 
manas' We can hardly form a just estimate of the various 
merits of such a writer from the scanty evidence that has 
come down to us, twenty-three of his plays being all that are 
known to exist in print. He seems, indeed, to have written 
his plays solely for the stage without any view to publication, 
and he tells us that many of them were lost by the shifting 
and change of companies, that others were retained in the 
hands of the actors, who considered it injurious to their pro- 
fits to suffer them to be printed, that having sold his copies to 
them he thought he had no right to print them without their 
consent, and that, even if he had the right to print them, he 
never had ' any great ambition to be, in this kind, voluminously 
read.' 

The earliest notice that has been traced of Thomas Heywood 
occurs in Henslowe's Diary under the date of 1596, from 
which it appears that he had at that time written a play for 
the Lord Admiral's company. In 1598 he entered Henslowe's 
company as a regular actor and sharer. On the accession of 
James L, he became one of the theatrical servants of the Earl 
of Worcester, was afterwards transferred to the service of 
Queen Anne, and upon her Majesty's death returned to Lord 
Worcester. Amongst the numerous works he either contem- 
plated or produced was a collection of The Lives of all the 
Poets, Modern and Foreign, upon the materials for which 
he was for many years engaged. Few further particulars are 
known concerning him. We learn from an elegy on Sir 
George Saint Poole, whom he calls his countryman, that he 
was born in Lincolnshire; and William Cartwright says that 
he was a fellow of Peter House, in Cambridge, which is in 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. 195 

some degree confirmed by an allusion of his own to ' the time 

of his residence at Cambridge.' 

The following curious notice of Heywood, in which an 

allusion is made to the poverty under which he suffered at one 

period of his life, if not throughout his whole career of labour 

and struggle, is extracted from a poem on the Times' Poets, 

published by Mr. Halliwell amongst the miscellaneous papers 

of the Shakespeare Society. It occurs in a very scarce volume, 

bearing the date of 1656, and entitled Choyce Drollery, 

Songs, and Sonnets, being a collection of divers excellent 

pieces of poetry of several eminent authors, never before 

printed: — 

The squibbling Middleton, and Heywood sage, 

The apologetic Atlas of the stage ; 

Well of the Golden Age he could entreat, 

But little of the metal he could get ; 

Threescore sweet babes he fashioned from the lump, 

For he was christened in Parnassus' pump, 

The Muses gossip to Aurora's bed, 

And ever since that time his face was red.] 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



WHAT IS LOVE? 

NOW what is love I will thee tell, 
It is the fountain and the well, 
Where pleasure and repentance dwell : 
It is perhaps the sansing bell,* 
That rings all in to heaven or hell, 
And this is love, and this is love, as I hear tell. 

Now what is love I will you show : 

A thing that creeps and cannot go ; 

A prize that passeth to and fro ; 

A thing for me, a thing for mo' : 

And he that proves shall find it so, 

And this is love, and this is love, sweet friend, I trow. 



* Sanctus bell, or Saint's bell, that called to prayers. 



196 SONGS FHOM THE DRAMATISTS. 



TAVERN SIGNS. 

THE gentry to the King's Head, 
The nobles to the Crown, 
The knights unto the Golden Fleece, 
And to the Plough the clown. 
The churchman to the Mitre, 
The shepherd to the Star, 
The gardener hies him to the Rose, 
To the Drum the man of war; 
To the Feathers, ladies, you; the Globe 
The sea-man doth not scorn : 
The usurer to the Devil, and 
The townsman to the Horn. 
The huntsman to the White Hart, 
To the Ship the merchants go, 
But you that do the muses love, 
The Sign called River Po. 
The banquerout to the World's End, 
The fool to the Fortune hie, 
Unto the Mouth the oyster wife, 
The fiddler to the Pie. 
The punk unto the Cockatrice, 
The drunkard to the Yine, 
The beggar to the Bush, then meet, 
And with Duke Humphrey dine. 

THE DEATH BELL. 

COME, list and hark, the bell doth toll 
For some but now departing soul. 
And was not that some ominous fowl, 
The bat, the night-crow, or screech-owl 1 
To these I hear the wild wolf howl, 
In this black night that seems to scowl. 
All these my black-book death enroll, 
For hark, still, still, the bell doth toll 
For some but now departing soul. 



thomas heywood. 197 

love's mistress; or, the queen's masque. 



THE PKAISES OF PAN. 



THOU that art called the bright Hyperion, 
Wert thou more strong than Spanish Geiyon 
That had three heads upon one man, 
Compare not with our great god Pan. 

They call thee son of bright Latona, 
But girt thee in thy torrid zona, 
Sweat, baste and broil, as best thou can; 
Thou art not like our dripping Pan. 

What cares he for the great god Neptune, 
With all the broth that he is kept in; 
Vulcan or Jove he scorns to bow to, 
Hermes, or the infernal Pluto. 

Then thou that art the heavens' bright eye, 
Or burn, or scorch, or broil, or fry, 
Be thou a god, or be thou man, 
Thou art not like our frying Pan. 

They call thee Phoebus, god of day, 

Years, months, weeks, hours, of March and May ; 

Bring up thy army in the van, 

Well meet thee with our pudding Pan. 

Thyself in thy bright chariot settle, 
With skillet armed, brass-pot or kettle, 
With jug, black-pot, with glass or can, 
No talking to our warming Pan. 

Thou hast thy beams thy brows to deck, 
Thou hast thy Daphne at thy beck : 
Pan hath his horns, Syrinx, and Phillis, 
And I, Pan's swain, my Amaryllis. 



198 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

FIRST PART OF KING EDWARD IV. 



AGINCOURT. 

A GINCOURT, Agincourt ! know ye not Agincourt? 
■**■ Where the English slew and hurt 
All the French foemen 1 
With our guns and bills brown, 
Oh, the French were beat down, 
Morris-pikes and bowmen. 

THE SILVER AGE. 



HARVEST-HOME. 

TT7TTH fair Ceres, Queen of Grain, 

* * The reaped fields we roam, roam, roam : 
Each country peasant, nymph, and swain, 

Sing their harvest home, home, home; 
Whilst the Queen of Plenty hallows 
Growing fields, as well as fallows. 

Echo, double all our lays, 

Make the champaigns sound, sound, sound, 
To the Queen of Harvest's praise, 

That sows and reaps our ground, ground, ground. 
Ceres, Queen of Plenty, hallows 
Growing fields, as well as fallows. 

THE FAIR MAID OF THE EXCHANGE. 



GO, PRETTY BIRDS. 

YE little birds that sit and sing 
Amidst the shady valleys, 
And see how Phillis sweetly walks, 

Within her garden-alleys ; 
Go, pretty birds, about her bower; 
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower; 
Ah, me ! methinks T see her frown ! 
Ye pretty wantons, warble. 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. 109 

Go, tell her, through your chirping bills, 

As you by me are bidden, 
To her is only known my love, 

Which from the world is hidden. 
Go, pretty birds, and tell her so ; 
See that your notes strain not too low, 
For still, methinks, I see her frown, 

Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

Go, tune your voices' harmony, 

And sing, I am her lover; 
Strain loud and sweet, that every note 

With sweet content may move her. 
And she that hath the sweetest voice, 
Tell her I will not change my choice; 
Yet still, methinks, I see her frown. 

Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

Oh, fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls 

Into a pretty slumber. 
Sing round about her rosy bed, 

That waking, she may wonder. 
Say to her, 'tis her lover true 
That sendeth love to you, to you; 
And when you hear her kind reply, 

Return with pleasant warblings. 

A CHALLENGE FOR BEAUTY. 



THE NATIONS. 

THE Spaniard loves his ancient slop; 
A Lombard the Yenetian ; 
And some like breechless women go, 
The Russe, Turk, Jew, and Grecian : 

The thrifty Frenchman wears small waist, 
The Dutch his belly boasteth ; 
The Englishman is for them all, 
And for each fashion coasteth. 



200 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

The Turk in linen wraps his head, 
The Persian his in lawn too, 
The Russe with sables furs his cap, 
And change will not be drawn to. 

The Spaniard's constant to his block, 
The French inconstant ever; 
But of all felts that may be felt, 
Give me your English beaver. 

The German loves his coney-wool, 
The Irishman his shag too, 
The Welch his Monmouth loves to wear, 
And of the same will brag too. 

Some love the rough, and some the smooth, 
Some great, and others small things; 
But oh, your liquorish Englishman, 
He loves to deal in all things. 

The Buss drinks quasse; Dutch, Lubeck's beer, 
And that is strong and mighty ; 
The Briton he Metheglen quaffs, 
The Irish aqua vitse. 

The French affects the Orleans grape, 
The Spaniard sips his sherry, 
The English none of these can 'scape, 
But he with all makes merry. 

The Italian in her high chioppine,* 
Scotch lass, and lovely Erse too, 
The Spanish donna, French madam, 
He doth not fear to go to. 

Nothing so full of hazard, dread, 
Nought lives above the centre, 
No health, no fashion, wine or wench, 
On which he dare not venture, t 



* Choppine, a clog or patten, 
t This song is introduced into the Rape of Lucrece. 



THOMAS HEYWOOD. 201 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 



DIANA S NTMPHS. 

HAIL, beauteous Dian, queen of shades, 
That dwell'st beneath these shadowy glades, 
Mistress of all those beauteous maids 

That are by her allowed. 
Virginity we all profess, 
Abjure the worldly vain excess, 
And will to Dian yield no less 

Than we to her have vowed. 
The shepherds, satyrs, nymphs, and fawns, 
For thee will trip it o'er the lawns. 

Come, to the forest let us go, 
And trip it like the barren doe ; 
The fawns and satyrs still do so, 

And freely thus they may do. 
The fairies dance and satyrs sing, 
And on the grass tread many a ring, 
And to their caves their venison bring; 

And we will do as they. 

The shepherds, satyrs, <fec, &c. 

Our food is honey from the bees, 

And mellow fruits that drop from trees ; 

In chace we climb the high degrees 

Of every steepy mountain. 
And when the weary day is past, 
We at the evening hie us fast, 
And after this, our field repast, 

We drink the pleasant fountain. 

The shepherds, satyrs, &c, <fcc. 



202 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

PHILIP MASSINGEE. 
1584— 1640. 

[The struggle of Massinger's life is pathetically summed up 
in the entry of his burial in the parish register of St. 
Saviour's: ' March 20, 1639-40 — buried Philip Massinger, a 
stranger.' This entry tells his whole story, its obscurity, 
humiliations, and sorrows. Dying in his house at Bankside, 
in the neighbourhood of the theatre which had been so often 
enriched by his genius, the isolation in which he lived is pain- 
fully indicated by this touching memorial. Yet there is little 
trace of a resentment against fortune in his writings, which 
are generally marked, on the contrary, by religious feeling, 
and that gentleness and patience of spirit by which he is said 
to have been distinguished in his intercourse with his con- 
temporaries. The only passages that have an air of discontent 
are those in which he rails at kings, and chastises the vices 
and hollowness of fashionable life and its vulgar imitators; 
but these topics were the common property of all the 
dramatists. Massinger was not so profound in his develop- 
ment of the stronger passions as he was true and chaste in 
the delineation of quiet emotions and ordinary experiences. 
His vehement tragic bursts sometimes degenerate into rant; 
but his calmer scenes are always natural and just. 'He 
wrote,' observes Lamb, ' with that equability of all the 
passions which made his English style the purest and most 
free from violent metaphors and harsh constructions of any of 
the dramatists who were his contemporaries.' 

The dates attached to the plays indicate the years in which 
they were produced upon the stage.] 

THE PICTURE. 1629. 



THE SWEETS OF BEAUTY. 



THE blushing rose, and purple flower, 
Let grow too long, are soonest blasted; 
Dainty fruits, though sweet, will sour, 
And rot in ripeness, left untasted. 



PHILIP MASSINGER. 203 

Yet here is one more sweet than these : 
The more you taste the more she'll please. 

Beauty that's enclosed with ice, 

Is a shadow chaste as rare ; 
Then how much those sweets entice, 

That have issue full as fair ! 
Earth cannot yield, from all her powers, 
One equal for dame Venus' bowers. 



THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST. 163I. 



W 



DEATH. 

HY art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, 
To stop a wretch's breath, 



That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart 

A prey unto thy dart? 
I am nor young nor fair; be, therefore, bold: 

Sorrow hath made me old, 
Deformed, and wrinkled ; all that I can crave, 

Is quiet in my grave. 
Such as live happy, hold long life a jewel; 

But to me thou art cruel, 
If thou end not my tedious misery ; 

And I soon cease to be. 
Strike, and strike home, then ; pity unto me, 

In one short hour's delay, is tyranny. 



THE GUARDIAN. 1633. 



THE BKIDAL. 

Juno to the Bride. 

ENTER a maid ; but made a bride, 
Be bold and freely taste 
The marriage banquet, ne'er denied 
To such as sit down chaste. 



204 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Though he unloose thy virgin zone, 

Presumed against thy will, 
Those joys reserved to him alone, 

Thou art a virgin still. 

Hymen to the Bridegroom. 

Hail, bridegroom, hail ! thy choice thus made, 

As thou wouldst have her true, 
Thou must give o'er thy wanton trade, 

And bid those fires adieu. 
That husband who would have his wife 

To him continue chaste, 
In her embraces spends his life, 

And makes abroad no waste. 

Hymen and Juno. 

Sport then like turtles, and bring forth 

Such pledges as may be 
Assurance of the father's worth, 

And mother's purity. 
Juno doth bless the nuptial bed; 

Thus Hymen's torches burn. 
Live long, and may, when both are dead, 

Your ashes fill one urn ! 



WELCOME TO THE FOREST S QUEEN. 

WELCOME, thrice welcome to this shady green, 
Our long- wished Cynthia, the forest's queen, 
The trees begin to bud, the glad birds sing 
In winter, changed by her into the spring. 
We know no night, 
Perpetual light 

Dawns from your eye. 
You being near, 
"We cannot fear, 

Though death stood by. 



JOHN FORD. 205 

From you our swords take edge, our heart grows 

bold; 
From you in fee their lives your liegemen hold. 
These groves your kingdom, and our laws your will ; 
Smile, and we spare ; but if you frown, we kill. 
Bless then the hour 
That gives the power 
In which you may, 
At bed and board, 
Embrace your lord 
Both night and day. 
Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green, 
Our long- wished Gynthia, the forest's queen i 



JOHN FORD. 

1586—16—. 

[While Massinger was fighting against the ills and mortifi- 
cations of a precarious pursuit, his contemporary Ford, two 
years his junior, was persevering in the profession of the law, 
filling up his leisure hours with dramatic poetry, and making 
an independence, which at last enabled him to marry (if the 
pleasant tradition may be trusted), and to spend the last years 
of his life at ease in his native place. He was descended from 
a family long settled in the north of Devonshire, was born in 
Islington in 1586, and is supposed to have died about 1640. 
In the poem on the Times' Poets, already quoted, he is 
described in a characteristic couplet: 

• Deep in a dump John Ford was alone got, 
With folded arms and melancholy hat.' 

Whether the ' melancholy hat' really conveys a faithful image 
of the character of the man is questionable, for in the roll of 
worthies enumerated by Hey wood in his Hierarchy of Angels, 
we are told that he was always called by the familiar name of 
Jack Ford, which argues a more social and genial nature.] 

THE DEAMATISTS. 14 



206 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE SUN'S DARLING.* 1623. 



THE REAL AND THE IDEAL. 

T^ANCIES are but streams 
-■- Of vain pleasure ; 
They, who by their dreams 
True joys measure, 
Feasting starve, laughing weep, 
Playing smart ; whilst in sleep 
Fools, with shadows smiling, 
Wake and find 
Hopes like wind, 
Idle hopes, beguiling. 
Thoughts fly away ; Time hath passed them : 
Wake now, awake ! see and taste them ! 

birds' songs. 

TT7HAT bird so sings, yet so does wail? 

* * 'Tis Philomel, the nightingale; 
J^gg, jugg, J u gg> teriie sli e cries, 
And, hating earth, to heaven she flies. 

Ha, ha ! hark, hark ! the cuckoos sing 
Cuckoo ! to welcome in the Spring. 

Brave prick-song ! who is't now we hear 1 

'Tis the lark's silver leer-a-leer. 

Chirrup the sparrow flies away; 

For he fell to't ere break of day. 

Ha, ha ! hark, hark ! the cuckoos sing 
Cuckoo ! to welcome in the Spring, f 

LIVE WITH ME. 

LIVE with me still, and all the measures, 
Played to by the spheres, I'll teach thee ; 
Let's but thus dally, all the pleasures 

The moon beholds, her man shall reach thee. 

* In this play Ford was joined by Dekker. 
t Imitated from a sung in Lyly's Alexander and Campaspe. — See 
ante, p. So. 



JOHN FORD. 207 

Dwell in mine arms, aloft we'll hover, 
And see fields of armies fighting : 

Oh, part not from me ! I'll discover 
There all, but books of fancy's writing. 

Be but my darling, age to free thee 
From her curse, shall fall a-dying ; 

Call me thy empress ; Time to see thee 
Shall forget his art of flying. 

THE DEATH OF SPRING. 

TJ ERE lies the blithe Spring, 

-*■-*- Who first taught birds to sing, 
Yet in April herself fell a crying : 

Then May growing hot, 

A sweating sickness she got, 
And the first of June lay a-dying. 

Yet no month can say, 

But her merry daughter May 
Stuck her coffins with flowers great plenty : 

The cuckoo sung in verse 

An epitaph o'er her hearse, 
But assure you the lines were not dainty. 

SUMMER SPORTS. 

HAYMAKERS, rakers, reapers, and mowers, 
Wait on your Summer-queen ; 
Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers, 
Daffodils strew the green; 
Sing, dance, and play, 
'Tis holiday; 
The Sun does bravely shine 
On our ears of corn. 

Rich as a pearl 
Comes every girl, 
This is mine, this is mine, this is mine; 
Let us die, ere away they be borne. 

14—2 



208 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Bow to the Sun, to our queen, and that fair one 

Come to behold our sports : 
Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one, 
As those in a prince's courts. 
These and we 
With country glee, 
"Will teach the woods to resound, 
And the hills with echoes hollow : 
Skipping lambs 
Their bleating dams, 
'Mongst kids shall trip it round; 
For joy thus our wenches we follow. 

Wind, jolly huntsmen, your neat bugles shrilly, 

Hounds make a lusty cry; 
Spring up, you falconers, the partridges freely, 
Then let your brave hawks fly. 
Horses amain, 
Over ridge, over plain, 
The dogs have the stag in chase : 
'Tis a sport to content a king. 
So ho ho ! through the skies 
How the proud bird flies, 
And sousing kills with a grace ! 
Now the deer falls ; hark ; how they ring ! 



DRINKING SONG. 

CAST away care ; he that loves sorrow 
Lengthens not a day, nor can buy to-morrow ; 
Money is trash ; and he that will spend it, 
Let him drink merrily, Fortune will send it. 
Merrily, merrily, merrily, Oh, ho ! 
Play it off stiffly, we may not part so. 

Wine is a charm, it heats the blood too, 
Cowards it will arm, if the wine be good too ; 



JOHN FORD. 



209 



Quickens the wit, and makes the back able, 
Scorns to submit to the watch or constable. 

Merrily, &c. 

Pots fly about, give us more liquor, 
Brothers of a rout, our brains will flow quicker ; 
Empty the cask ; score up, we care not ; 
Fill all the pots again; drink on, and spare not. 

Merrily, &c. 

THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 1628. 



FLY HENCE, SHADOWS ! 

"17 LY hence, shadows, that do keep 

-■- Watchful sorrows, charmed in sleep ! 

Though the eyes be overtaken, 

Yet the heart doth ever waken 

Thoughts, chained up in busy snares 

Of continual woes and cares : 

Love and griefs are so expressed, 

As they rather sigh than rest. 

Fly hence, shadows, that do keep 

Watchful sorrows, charmed in sleep. 

THE BROKEN HEART. 1633. 



BEAUTY BEYOND THE REACH OF ART. 

CAN you paint a thought 1 ? or number 
Every fancy in a slumber? 
Can you count soft minutes roving 
From a dial's point by moving 1 ? 
Can you grasp a sigh? or, lastly, 
Hob a virgin's honour chastely? 
No, oh no ! yet you may 

Sooner do both that and this, 
This and that, and never miss, 
Than by any praise display 



210 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Beauty's beauty; such a glory, 
As beyond all fate, all story, 

All arms, all arts, 

All loves, all hearts, 
Greater than those, or they, 
Do, shall, and must obey. 

BKIDAL SONG. 

COMFOBTS lasting, loves encreasing, 
Like soft hours never ceasing; 
Plenty's pleasure, peace complying, 
Without jars, or tongues envying; 
Hearts by holy union wedded, 
More than theirs by custom bedded; 
Fruitful issues ; life so graced, 
Not by age to be defaced; 
Budding as the year ensu'th, 
Every spring another youth : 
All what thought can add beside, 
Crown this Bridegroom and this Bride ! 



LOVE IS EVER DYING. 

OH, no more, no more, too late 
Sighs are spent ; the burning tapers 
Of a life as chaste as fate, 

Pure as are unwritten papers, 
Are burned out : no heat, no light 
Now remains; 'tis ever night. 
Love is dead ; let lover's eyes, 
Locked in endless dreams, 
The extremes of all extremes, 
Ope no more, for now Love dies. 
Now love die.*, — implying 
Love's martyrs must be ever, ever dying. 



JOHN FORD. 211 



A DIRGE. 

GLORIES, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease, 
Can but please 
The outward senses, when the mind 
Is or untroubled, or by peace refined. 
Crowns may flourish and decay, 
Beauties shine, but fade away. 
Youth may revel, yet it must 
Lie down in a bed of dust. 
Earthly honours flow and waste, 
Time alone doth change and last. 
Sorrows mingled with contents, prepare 

Rest for care; 
Love only reigns in death ; though art 
Can find no comfort for a broken heart. 



THE LADY'S TRIAL. 1638. 



LOSE NUT OrrOHTUNITY. 

PLEASURES, beauty, youth attend ye, 
Whilst the spring of nature lasteth ; 
Love and melting thoughts befriend ye, 
Use the time, ere winter hasteth. 
Active blood, and free delight, 
Place and privacy invite. 
Do, do ! be kind as fair, 
Lose not opportunity for air. 

She is cruel that denies it, 

Bounty best appears in granting; 
Stealth of sport as soon supplies it, 
Whilst the dues of love are wanting. 
Here's the sweet exchange of bliss, 
When each whisper proves a kiss. 
In the game are felt no pains, 
For in all the lover gains. 



212 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 

1608 — 1642. 

[The animal spirits and gallantry of Suckling are charmingly 
sustained in these songs. Nothing in verse can be more airy 
or sparkling. They have in them the brightest and finest 
elements of youth — manliness and gaiety, wit, grace, and 
refinement. In this class of light and sprightly lyrics, of 
which he may be considered the founder, he is unrivalled. 
The comparison between him and Waller is infinitely in 
favour of Suckling, whose ease and vivacity offer a striking 
contrast to the elaborate finish and careful filigree of Waller. 
He writes, also, more like a man of blood and high breeding. 
His luxurious taste and voluptuousness are native to him ; 
while in Waller there is always the effort of art, and the con- 
sciousness of the fine gentleman.] 

AGLAURA. 1638. 



THE PINING LOVER. 

TT7HY so pale and wan, fond lover? 
^ » Prithee why so pale ? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Prithee why so pale? 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 

Prithee why so mute? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her. 

Saying nothing do't? 

Prithee why so mute? 

Quit, quit, for shame; this will not move, 

This cannot take her; 
If of herself she will not love, 

NTothing can make her : 

The devil take her. 



SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 213 

TRUE LOVE. 

NO, no, fair heretic, it needs must be 
But an ill love in me, 

And worse for thee ; 
For were it in my power 
To love thee now this hour 

More than I did the last; 
'Twould then so fall, 

I might not love at all ; 
Love that can flow, and can admit increase, 
Admits as well an ebb, and may grow less. 

True love is still the same ; the torrid zones, 

And those more frigid ones 

It must not know : 
For love grown cold or hot, 

Is lust, or friendship, not 

The thing we have. 
For that's a flame would die 
Held down, or up too high : 
Then think I love more than I can express, 
And would love more, could I but love thee less. 

BRENNORALT. 1639. 



SHE'S pretty to walk with: 
And witty to talk with : 
And pleasant too to think on. 
But the best use of all 
Is, her health is a stale,* 
And helps us to make us drink on. 



THE VIRTUE OP DRINKING. 

COME let the state stay, 
And drink away, 

* A snare or decoy. 



214 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

There is no business above it : 
It warms the cold brain, 
Makes us speak in high strain; 

He's a fool that does not approve it. 

The Macedon youth 

Left behind him this truth, 

That nothing is done with much thinking ; 
He drunk, and he fought, 
Till he had what he sought, 

The world was his own by good drinking. 

THE GOBLINS. 1646. 



FILL it up, fill it up to the brink, 
When the poets cry clink, 
And the pockets chink, 

Then 'tis a merry world. 
To the best, to the best, have at her, 
And the deuce take the woman-hater :- 
The prince of darkness is a gentleman, 
Mahu, Mahu is his name. 

THE SAD ONE. 



FICKLE AND FALSE. 

HAST thou seen the down in the air, 
When wanton blasts have tossed it? 
Or the ship on the sea, 

When ruder winds have crossed it ? 
Hast thou marked the crocodiles weeping, 

Or the fox's sleeping? 
Or hast thou viewed the peacock in his pride, 

Or the dove by his bride, 

When he courts for his lechery? 
Oh ! so fickle, oh ! so vain, oh ! so false, so false is she ! 



215 



WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 
1611 — 1643. 

[It was of William Cartwright Ben Jonson said, ' My son, 
Cartwright writes like a man.' He has not left much behind 
to justify this eulogium; but his minor poems exhibit evi- 
dences of taste and scholarship which sufficiently explain the 
esteem and respect in which he was held by his contempo- 
raries. His father, after spending a fortune, was reduced to 
the necessity of keeping an inn at Cirencester ; but the son, 
obtaining a king's scholarship, was enabled to enter West- 
minster School, and from thence was elected a student of 
Christ Church, Oxford. He afterwards went into holy orders, 
and in 1643 was chosen junior proctor of the University. He 
is said to have studied sixteen hours a day, was an accom- 
plished linguist, and added to his other graces a handsome 
person. A malignant fever that prevailed at Oxford seized 
upon him in 1643, and terminated his life in the thirty-second 
year of his age.] 

THE OBDINARY. 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF EATING. 

THEN our music is in prime, 
When our teeth keep triple time ; 
Hungry notes are fit for knells. 
May lankness be 
No guest to me : 
The bag-pipe sounds when that it swells. 
May lankness, &c. 

A mooting-night brings wholesome smiles, 
When John-a-Nokes and John-a-Stiles 
Do grease the lawyer's satin. 
A reading day 
Frights French away, 
The benchers dare speak Latin. 

A reading, &c. 



216 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

He that's full doth verse compose ; 
Hunger deals in sullen prose : 
Take notice and discard her. 
The empty spit 
Ne'er cherished wit; 
Minerva loves the larder. 

The empty spit, &c. 

First to breakfast, then to dine, 
Is to conquer Bellarmine : 

Distinctions then are budding. 
Old Sutcliffs wit 
Did never hit, 
But after his bag-pudding. 

Old Sutcliff's wit, &c. 



PHINEAS FLETCHEE. 

1584— 1650. 

[The author of the Purple Island and the Piscatory 
Eclogues. His out-of-door poetry is his best, and frequently 
recalls the sweetness and luxuriance of Spenser, and of his 
own namesake and cousin, the dramatic poet. Phineas was 
what honest Walton would have called ' a true brother of the 
nangle,' and his master-passion betrays itself in the most 
unexpected places. It appears even in the characters and 
subject of his only dramatic work, which he describes on the 
title-page as A Piscatory. .] 

THE SICELIDES. 1614. 



LOVE. 



LOVE is the sire, dam, nurse, and seed 
Of all that air, earth, waters breed. 
All these earth, water, air, and fire, 
Though contraries, in love conspire. 



PH1NEAS FLETCHER. 217 

Fond painters, love is not a lad 

With bow, and shafts, and feathers clad, 

As he is fancied in the brain 

Of some loose loving idle swain. 

Much sooner is he felt than seen; 

Substance subtle, slight and thin, 

Oft leaps he from the glancing eyes; 

Oft in some smooth mount he lies ; 

Soonest he wins, the fastest flies ; 

Oft lurks he 'twixt the ruddy lips, 

Thence, while the heart his nectar sips, 

Down to the soul the poison slips ; 

Oft in a voice creeps down the ear; 

Oft hides his darts in golden hair; 

Oft blushing cheeks do light his fires; 

Oft in a smooth soft skin retires; 

Often in smiles, often in tears, 

His flaming heat in water bears; 

When nothing else kindles desire, 

Even virtue's self shall blow the fire. 

Love with a thousand darts abounds, 

Surest and deepest virtue wounds, 

Oft himself becomes a dart, 

And love with love doth love impart. 

Thou painful pleasure, pleasing pain, 

Thou gainful life, thou losing gain, 

Thou bitter sweet, easing disease, 

How dost thou by displeasing please 1 

How dost thou thus bewitch the heart, 

To love in hate, to joy in smart, 

To think itself most bound when free, 

And freest in its slavery 1 ? 

Every creature is thy debtor; 

None but loves, some worse, some better. . 
Only in love they happy prove 
Who love what most deserves their love. 



218 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

WILLIAM HABINGTON. 

1605— 1654. 

[William Habington is not generally known as a drama- 
tist. His poetical reputation rests on a volume of verses 
called Castara, divided into three parts, the first and second 
addressed to his wife before and after marriage, and the third 
to religious subjects. The play from which this song is 
taken is his only dramatic work, and the song itself, which 
has something of the nonchalance and freedom of Suckling, 
without his airiness, is the happiest passage it contains.] 

THE QUEEN OP ARRAGON. 



INDIFFERENCE. 

FINE young folly, though you were 
That fair beauty I 'did swear, 
Yet you ne'er could reach my heart : 
For we courtiers learn at school, 
Only with your sex to fool; 

You are not worth the serious part. 

When I sigh and kiss your hand, 
Cross my arms, and wondering stand, 

Holding parley with your eye, 
Then dilate on my desires, 
Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires — 

All is but a handsome lie. 

"When I eye your curl or lace, 
Gentle soul, you think your face 

Straight some murder doth commit; 
And your virtue doth begin 
To grow scrupulous of my sin, 

When I talk to shew my wit 



BARTEN HOLIDAY. 219 

Therefore, madam, wear no cloud, 
Nor to check my love grow proud; 

In sooth I much do doubt, 
'Tis the powder in your hair, 
Not your breath, perfumes the air, 
And your clothes that set you out. 

Yet though truth has this confessed, 
And I vow I love in jest, 

"When I next begin to court, 
And protest an amorous flame, 
You will swear I in earnest am : 

Bedlam ! this is pretty sport. 



BARTEN HOLIDAY. 

1661. 

[Barten Holiday, was born in the latter end of the reign of 
Queen Elizabeth, became at an early age a student of Christ 
Church College, Oxford, entered orders in 1615, and was 
appointed archdeacon of the diocese of Oxford. He died in 
1 66 1. Langbaine says that he was ' a general scholar, a good 
preacher, a skilful philosopher, and an excellent poet.' He 
translated Juvenal and Persius, and published numerous 
sermons. The singular drama which supplies the following 
lively song is allegorical, the characters forming a sort of 
commonwealth of the arts and sciences. In order to give the 
true relish to this vagrant ditty it should be observed that it 
is sung by a humorous serving-man, dressed, according to 
the stage directions, 'in a pale russet suit, on the back 
whereof is expressed one filling a pipe of tobacco, his hat set 
round with tobacco-pipes, with a can of drink hanging at his 
girdle.'] 



220 songs from the dramatists, 

texxotamia; or, the marriage of the arts. 1630. 



TOBACCO'S a Musician, 
And in a pipe delighteth ; 
It descends in a close, 
Through the organs of the nose, 
With a relish that inviteth. 

This makes me sing So ho, ho ; So ho, ho, boys, 
Ho boys, sound I loudly; 

Earth ne'er did breed 

Such a jovial weed, 
Whereof to boast so proudly. 

Tobacco is a Lawyer, 

His pipes do love long cases, 
When our brains it enters, 
Our feet do make indentures, 
While we seal with stamping paces. 

This makes me sing, <fcc. 

Tobacco's a Physician, 

Good both for sound and sickly; 
'Tis a hot perfume 
That expels cold rheum, 
And makes it flow down quickly. 

This makes me sing, tfcc. 

Tobacco is a Traveller, 

Come from the Indies hither; 
It passed sea and land, 
Ere it came to my hand, 
And 'scaped the wind and weather. 

This makes me sing, &c. 
Tobacco is a Critic, 

That still old paper turneth, 
Whose labour and care 
Is as smoke in the air 
That ascends from a rag when it burnetii. 
This makes me sing, (fee. 



JAMES SHIRLEY. 221 



Tobacco's an ignis fatuus — 

A fat and fiery vapour, 

That leads men about 

Till the fire be out, 

Consuming like a taper. 



This makes me sing, &c. 



Tobacco is a WhifHer, 

And cries huff snuff with fury; 

His pipe's his club and link; 

He's wiser that does drink ; 
Thus armed I fear not a fury. 



This makes me sing, &c. 



JAMES SHIRLEY. 

1596 — 1666. 

[With Shirley terminates the roll of the great writers whose 
works form a distinct era in our dramatic literature. He was 
the last of a race of giants. Born in the reign of Elizabeth, 
he lived to witness the Restoration, and carried down to the 
time of Charles I. the moral and poetical elements of the age 
of Shakespeare. New modes and a new language set in with 
the Restoration; and the hue that separates Shirley from his 
immediate successors is as clearly defined and as broadly 
marked as if a century had elapsed between them. 

Shirley was educated at Merchant-Tailors' School, and 
from thence removed to St. John's College, Oxford, which he 
afterwards left to complete his collegiate course at Cambridge. 
Having entered holy orders, he was appointed to a living at 
or near St. Albans, in Hertfordshire; but subsequently re- 
nounced his ministry, in consequence of having embraced the 
doctrines of the Church of Rome. For a short time he found 
occupation as a teacher in a grammar-school, a life of drudgery 
which he soon relinquished to become a writer for the stage. 
He produced altogether thirty-three plays j and not the least 

THE DEAilATISTS. 15 



222 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

remarkable circumstance connected with them is that, instead 
of going to other sources for his plots, he invented nearly the 
whole of them. Vigour and variety of expression, and rich- 
ness of imagery are amongst his conspicuous merits ; and, 
making reasonable allowance for occasional contusion in the 
imbroglio of his more complicated fables, arising, no doubt, 
from hasty composition, the action of his dramas is generally 
contrived and evolved with considerable skill. 

Shirley died in 1666. Wood tells us that the fire of 
London drove him and his wife from their residence near 
Fleet-street into the parish of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, and 
that the alarm and losses they sustained took so severe an 
effect upon them that they both died on the same day.] 

LOVE TRICKS. 1624. 



BHEPHEKDS AND SHEPHEEDESSES. 

WOODMEN, shepherds, come away, 
This is Pan's great holiday, 
Throw off cares, 
With your heaven-aspiring airs 

Help us to sing, 
While valleys with your echoes sing. 

Nymphs that dwell within these groves 
Leave your arbours, bring your loves, 

Gather posies, 
Crown your golden hair with roses ; 

A.S you pass 
Foot like fairies on the grass. 

Joy crown our bowers ! Philomel, 
Leave of Tereus' rape to tell. 

Let trees dance, 
As they at Thracian lyre did once ; 

Mountains play, 
This is the shepherds' holiday. 



JAMES SHIRLEY. 223 

THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 1628. 



LOVE S HUE AND CRY. 



TN Love's name you are charged hereby 

-■- To make a speedy hue and cry, 

After a face, who t'other day, 

Came and stole my heart away; 

For your directions in brief 

These are best marks to know the thief: 

Her hair a net of beams would prove, 

Strong enough to captive Jove, 

Playing the eagle ; her clear brow 

Is a comely field of snow. 

A sparkling eye, so pure a gray 

As when it shines it needs no day. 

Ivory dwelleth on her nose ; 

Lilies, married to the rose, 

Have made her cheek the nuptial bed; 

Her lips betray their virgin red, 

As they only blushed for this, 

That they one another kiss ; 

But observe, beside the rest, 

You shall know this felon best 

By her tongue ; for if your ear 

Shall once a heavenly music hear, 

Such as neither gods nor men 

But from that voice shall hear again, 

That, that is she, oh, take her t'ye, 

None can rock heaven asleep but she. 

THE BIRD IN A CAGE. 1632. 



THE FOOL'S SONG.* 

AMONG all sorts of people 
The matter if we look well to ; 

* In this song, Shirley follows closely a similar exaltation of the 
motley by Ben Jonson. — See ante, p. 114. 

15—2 



224 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

The fool is the best, he from the rest 

Will carry away the bell too. 
All places he is free of, 

And foots it without blushing 
At masks and plays, is not the bays 

Thrust out, to let the plush in 1 ? 
Your fool is fine, he's merry, 

And of all men doth fear least, 
At every word he jests with my lord, 

And tickles my lady in earnest : 
The fool doth pass the guard now, 

He'll kiss his hand, and leg it, 
When wise men prate, and forfeit their state, 

Who but the fine fool will beg it 1 
He without fear can walk in 

The streets that are so stony; 
Your gallant sneaks, your merchant breaks, 

He's a fool that does owe no money. 



THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 1633. 



THE BKEAKING UP OF THE MASQUE. 

COME away, away, away, 
See the dawning of the day, 
Risen from the murmuring streams; 
Some stars show with sickly beams, 
What stock of flame they are allowed, 
Each retiring to a cloud; 
Bid your active sports adieu, 
The morning else will blush for you. 
Ye feather-footed hours run 
To dress the chariot of the sun ; 
Harness the steeds, it quickly will 
Be time to mount the eastern hill. 
The lights grow pale with modest fears, 
Lest you offend their sacred ears 



JAMES SHIRLEY. 225 

And eyes, that lent you all this grace ; 
Retire, retire, to your own place. 
And as you move from that blest pair, 
Let each heart kneel, and think a prayer, 
That all, that can make up the glory 
Of good and great may fill their story. 

ST. PATRICK FOR IRELAND. 164O. 



HANG CAEE! 

F NEITHER will lend nor borrow, 
-*- Old age will be here to-morrow ; 
This pleasure we are made for, 
When death comes all is paid for : 

No matter what's the bill of fare, 
I'll take my cup, I'll take no care. 

Be wise, and say you had warning, 

To laugh is better than learning ; 

To wear no clothes, not neat is ; 

But hunger is good where meat is : 
Give me wine, give me a wench, 
And let her parrot talk in French. 

It is a match worth the making, 
To keep the merry-thought waking; 
A song is better than fasting, 
And sorrow's not worth the tasting : 

Then keep your brain light as you can, 
An ounce of care will kill a man. 



THE ARCADIA. 164O. 



CUPID S SEAECH FOR HIS MOTHER. 

TELL me tidings of my mother, 
Shepherds, and be Cupid's brother. 
Down from heaven we came together : 
With swan's speed came she not hither 1 



226 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

But what lady have I spied 1 
Just so was my mother eyed; 
Such her smiles wherein I dwelt; 
In those lips have I been felt ; 
Those the pillows of her breast, 
Which gave Cupid so much rest : 
'Tis she, tis she ! make holiday, 
Shepherds, carol, dance, and play. 
'Tis Yenus, it can be no other; 
Cupid now has found his mother ! 

CUPID AND DEATH. 1653. 



THE COMMON DOOM. 

T7ICT0RI0US men of earth, no more 

* Proclaim how wide your empires are ; 
Though you bind in every shore, 
And your triumphs reach as far 

As night or day, 
Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey, 
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. 

Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 

Each able to undo mankind, 
Death's servile emissaries are ; 

Nor to these alone confined, 
He hath at will 

More quaint and subtle ways to kill; 
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 

LOVE AND DEATH. 

CHANGE, oh change your fatal bows, 
Since neither knows 
The virtue of each other's darts ! 
Alas, what will become of hearts ! 



JAMES SHIRLEY. . 227 

If it prove 

A death to love, 

We shall find 
Death will be cruel to be kind : 
For when he shall to armies fly, 
Where men think blood too cheap to buy 

Themselves a name, 
He reconciles them, and deprives 
The valiant men of more than lives, 

A victory and fame : 
Whilst Love, deceived by these cold shafts, instead 
Of curing wounded hearts, must kill indeed. 

Take pity, gods ! some ease the world will find 
To give young Cupid eyes, or strike Death blind : 
Death should not then have his own will, 
And Love, by seeing men bleed, leave off to kill. 

THE CONTENTION OF A J AX AND ULYSSES. 1 659. 



THE EQUALITY OF THE GKAVE.~ 

THE glories of our blood and state 
Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armour against fate; 
Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
Sceptre and crown 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield; 
They tame but one another still : 
Early or late, 
They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

* This is said to have been a favourite song of Charles II. 



. SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS 

The garlands wither on your brow, 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon Death's purple altar now 

See, where the victor-victim bleeds : 
Your heads must come 
To the cold tomb, 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 



SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 
1605 — 1668. 

[If we cannot discover in the tedious poem of Gondibert any 
satisfactory evidence of that illustrious descent implied by the 
insinuation of Wood, the following songs might justify a sus- 
picion of Davenant's poetical lineage. The character of 
Davenant's verse is by no means Shakesperean ; but there 
is a spirit in these pieces not unworthy of such a paternity. 
They possess an energy 

' That like a trumpet makes the spirits dance.' 
The bounding versification fills the ear with music; and 
they are distinguished by a breadth of treatment and know- 
ledge of effect seldom so successfully displa}-ed within such 
restricted limits.] 

THE SIEGE OF RHODES. 



W05IEN PREPARING FOR WAR. 

LET us live, live ! for, being dead, 
The pretty spots, 
Ribbons and knots, 
And the fine French dress for the head, 
No lady wears upon her 
In the cold, cold bed of honour. 
Beat down our grottos, and hew down our bowers, 
Dig up our arbours, and root up our flowers ; 



SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 229 

Our gardens are bulwarks and bastions become; 
Then bang up our lute, we must sing to the drum. 

Our patches and our curls, 
So exact in each station, 
Our powders and our purls, 
Are now out of fashion. 
Hence with our needles, and give us your spades ; 
We, that were ladies, grow coarse as our maids. 
Our coaches have driven us to balls at the court, 
We now must drive barrows to earth up the fort. 

JEALOUSY. 

THIS cursed jealousy, what is't? 
Tis love that has lost itself in a mist ; 
Tis love being frighted out of his wits ; 
'Tis love that has a fever got ; 
Love that is violently hot, 
But troubled with cold and trembling fits. 
'Tis yet a more unnatural evil : 

'Tis the god of love, 'tis the god of love, possessed 
with a devil. 

'Tis rich corrupted wine of love, 

Which sharpest vinegar does prove ; 

From all the sweet flowers which might honey make, 

It does a deadly poison bring : 

Strange serpent which itself doth sting ! 

It never can sleep, and dreams still awake ; 

It stuffs up the marriage-bed with thorns. 

It gores itself, it gores itself, with imagined horns. 

THE UNFORTUNATE LOVERS. 



LOVE S LOTTERY. 



RUN to love's lottery! Run, maids, and rejoice: 
When, drawing your chance, you meet your own 
choice ; 



230 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

And boast that your luck you help with design, 
By praying cross-legged to Old Bishop Valentine. 
Hark, hark ! a prize is drawn, and trumpets sound ! 

Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra ! 

Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra ! 

Hark maids ! more lots are drawn ! prizes abound. 
Dub! dub a, dub a, dub! the drum now beats! 
And, dub a, dub a, dub, echo repeats; 
As if at night the god of war had made 
Love's queen a skirmish for a serenade. 

Haste, haste, fair maids, and come away ! 

The priest attends, your bridegrooms stay. 

Roses and pinks will be strewn where you go ; 

Whilst I walk in shades of willow, willow. 

When I am dead let him that did stay me 
Be but so good as kindly to lay me 
There where neglected lovers mourn, 
Where lamps and hallowed tapers burn, 
Where clerks in quires sad dirges sing, 
Where sweetly bells at burials ring. 

My rose of youth is gone 

Withered as soon as blown ! 

Lovers go ring my knell ! 

Beauty and love farewell ! 

And lest virgins forsaken 

Should, perhaps, be mistaken 
In seeking my grave, alas ! let them know 
I lie near a shade of willow, willow. 



THE COQUET. 

,r FIS, in good truth, a most wonderful thing 

-*- (I am even ashamed to relate it) 
That love so many vexations should bring, 
And yet few have the wit to hate it. 






SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 231 

Love's weather in maids should seldom hold fair: 
Like April's mine shall quickly alter; 

I'll give him to-night a lock of my hair, 
To whom next day I'll send a halter. 

I cannot abide these malapert males, 

Pirates of love, who know no duty ; 
Yet love with a storm can take down their sails, 

And they must strike to Admiral Beauty. 

Farewell to that maid who will be undone, 
Who in markets of men (where plenty 

Is cried up and down) will die even for one ; 
I will live to make fools of twenty. 

THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 



LOVE PROSCRIBED. 

WAKE all the dead ! what ho ! what ho ! 
How soundly they sleep whose pillows lie low? 
They mind not poor lovers who walk above 
On the decks of the world in storms of love. 

No whisper now nor glance shall pass 

Through wickets or through panes of glass ; 
For our windows and doors are shut and barred. 
Lie close in the church, and in the churchyard. 

In every grave make room, make room ! 

The world's at an end, and we come, we come. 

The state is now love's foe, love's foe ; 
Has seized on his arms, his quiver and bow; 
Has pinioned his wings, and fettered his feet, 
Because he made way for lovers to meet. 

But O sad chance, his judge was old; 

Hearts cruel grown, when blood grows cold. 
No man being young, his process would draw. 
heavens that love should be subject to law! 

Lovers go woo the dead, the dead ! 

Lie two in a grave, and to bed, to bed ! 



232 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THE MAN'S THE MASTER. 



A DRINKING HOUND. 

rPHE bread is all baked, 
-*- The embers are raked ; 
'Tis midnight now by chanticleers first crowing ; 
Let's kindly carouse 
Whilst 'top of the house 
The cats fall out in the heat of their wooing. 
Time, whilst thy hour-glass does run out, 
This flowing glass shall go about. 
Stay, stay, the nurse is waked, the child does cry, 
No song so ancient is as lulla-by. 
The cradle's rocked, the child is hushed again, 
Then hey for the maids, and ho for the men. 
Now every one advance his glass; 
Then all at once together clash; 
Experienced lovers know 
This clashing does but shew, 
That, as in music, so in love must be 
Some discord to make up a harmony. 
Sing, sing ! When crickets sing why should not we ? 

The crickets were merry before us ; 
They sung us thanks ere we made them a fire. 

They taught us to sing in a chorus : 
The chimney's their church, the oven their quire. 
Once more the cock cries cock-a-doodle-doo. 
The owl cries o'er the barn, to-whit-to-whoo ! 
Benighted travellers now lose their way 

Whom Will-of-the-wisp bewitches : 
About and about he leads them astray 

Through bogs, through hedges, and ditches. 
Hark ! hark ! the cloister bell is rung ! 
Alas ! the midnight dirge is sung. 
Let 'em ring, 
Let 'em sing, 



MARKHAM AND SAMPSON. 233 

Whilst we spend the night in love and in laughter. 

When night is gone, 

O then too soon 
The discords and cares of the day come after. 

Come boys! a health, a health, a double health 
To those who 'scape from care by shunning wealth. 

Dispatch it away 

Before it be day, 
'Twill quickly grow early when it is late : 

A health to thee, 

To him, to me, 
To all who beauty love, and business hate. 

THE CRUEL BROTHER. 



GKIEVE NOT FOR THE PAST. 

TTTEEP no more for what is past, 
* * For time in motion makes such haste 
He hath no leisure to descry 
Those errors which he passeth by. 
If we consider accident, 

And how repugnant unto sense 
It pays desert with bad event, 

We shall disparage Providence. 



GERVASE MARKHAM AND WILLIAM 
SAMPSON. 

[These writers belong to the time of Charles L, in whose 
service Markham bore a captain's commission. He was a 
writer of some authority in his day on agriculture and 
husbandry. Of Sampson nothing is known except that he 
was the author of two plays, and assisted Markham in the 
piece from which the following song is taken.] 



234 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

HEROD AND ANTIPATER. 



SIMPLES TO SELL. 

/^OME will you buy? for I have here 
^ The rarest gums that ever were ; 
Gold is but dross, and features die, 
Else .ZEsculapius tells a lie. 
But I, 

Come will you buy? 

Have medicines for that malady. 

Is there a lady in this place, 
Would not be masked, but for her face ? 
O do not blush, for here is that 
Will make your pale cheeks plump and fat. 
Then why 

Should I thus cry, 

And none a scruple of me buy 1 ? 

Come buy, you lusty gallants, 

These simples which I sell; 
In all your days were never seen like these, 

For beauty, strength, and smell. 
Here's the king-cup, the pansy with the violet, 

The rose that loves the shower, 

The wholesome gillinower, 
Both the cowslip, lily, 
And the daffodilly, 

With a thousand in my power. 

Here's golden amaranthus, 

That true love can provoke, 
Of horehound store, and poisoning helebore, 

With the polipode of the oak ; 
Here's chaste vervine, and lustful eringo, 

Health preserving sage, 

And rue which cures old age, 
With a world of others, 
Making fruitful mothers ; 

All these attend me as my page. 



235 



JASPER MATNE. 

1604 — 1672. 

[De. Jaspeb Mayne was a distinguished preacher in the 
time of Charles L, and held two livings in the gift of the 
University of Oxford, from which he was expelled under the 
Commonwealth. At the Restoration, however, he was not 
only re-appointed to his former benefice, but made chaplain 
in ordinary to his Majesty, and archdeacon of Chichester. 
Dr. Mayne is said to have been a clergyman of the most 
exemplary character ; but there is an anecdote related of him 
which, if true, shows that he was also a practical humorist. 
He had an old servant to whom he bequeathed a trunk, 
which he told him contained something that would make 
him drink after his death. When the trunk was opened on 
the Doctor's demise, it was found to contain — a red-herring.] 

THE CITY MATCH. 



THE WONDERFUL FISH. 

TT7E show no monstrous crocodile, 
* * Nor any prodigy of Nile ; 
No Remora that stops your fleet, 
Like Serjeant's gallants in the street; 
No sea-horse which can trot or pace, 
Or swim false gallop, post, or race : 
For crooked dolphins we not care, 
Though on their back a fiddler were : 
The like to this fish, which we shew, 
"Was ne'er in Fish-street, old, or new; 
Nor ever served to the sheriff's board, 
Or kept in souse for the Mayor Lord. 
Had old astronomers but seen 
This fish, none else in heaven had been. 



236 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

SIR SAMUEL TUKE. 

1673. 

THE ADVENTURES OP TWO HOURS. 



c- 



MISTAKEN KINDNESS. 

'AN Luciamira so mistake, 
To persuade me to fly? 
'Tis cruel kind for my own sake, 
To counsel me to die; 
Like those faint souls, who cheat themselves of breath, 
And die for fear of death. 

Since Love's the principle of life, 

And you the object loved, 
Let's, Luciamira, end this strife, 

I cease to be removed. 
We know not what they do, are gone from hence, 
But here we love by sense. 

If the Platonics, who would prove 

Souls without bodies love, 
Had, with respect, well understood, 

The passions in the blood, 
They had suffered bodies to have had their part, 
And seated love in the heart. 



SIR WILLIAM KILLIGREW. 
1605— 1693. 

SELINDRA. 



THE HAPPY HOUR. 

COME, come, thou glorious object of my sight, 
Oh my joy! my life, my only delight! 
May this glad minute be 
Blessed to eternity. 



JOHN DRYDEN. 237 

See how the glimmering tapers of the sky, 
Do gaze, and wonder at our constancy, 

How they crowd to behold ! 

What our arms do infold ! 

How all do envy our felicities ! 

And grudge the triumphs of Selindra's eyes : 

How Cynthia seeks to shroud 

Her crescent in yon cloud ! 

Where sad night puts her sable mantle on, 
Thy light mistaking, hasteth to be gone; 
Her gloomy shades give way, 
As at the approach of day ; 
And all the planets shrink, in doubt to be 
Eclipsed by a brighter deity. 
Look, oh look ! 

How the small 
Lights do fall, 
And adore, 
What before 
The heavens have not shown, 
Nor their god-heads known ! 

Such a faith, 

Such a love 

As may move 

From above 
To descend; and remain 
Amongst mortals again. 



JOHN DRYDEN. 

1 63 1 — 1700. 

[The songs scattered through Dryden's plays are strikingly 
inferior to the rest of his poetry. The confession he makes 
in one of his dedications that in writing for the stage he 

THE DEAMATISTS. 16 



ZOO SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

consulted the taste of the audiences and not his own, and 
that, looking at the results, he was equally ashamed of the 
public and himself, applies with special force to his songs. 
They seem for the most part to have been thrown off merely 
to fill up a situation, or produce a transitory effect, without 
reference to substance, art, or beauty, in their structure. 
Like nearly all pieces written expressly for music, the conve- 
nience of the composer is consulted in many of them rather 
than the judgment of the poet, although the world had a 
right to expect that the genius of Dryden would have vindi- 
cated itself by reconciling both. Some of the verses designed 
on this principle undoubtedly exhibit remarkable skill in 
accommodating the diction and rhythm to the demands of the 
air; and, however indifferent they may be in perusal, it can 
be easily understood how effective their breaks, repetitions, 
and sonorous words (sometimes without much meaning in 
them) must have been in the delivery. Dryden descended 
to the smallest things with as much success as he soared to 
the highest ; and, if he had cared to bestow any pains upon 
such compositions, two or three of the following specimens 
are sufficient to show with what a subtle fancy and melody of 
versification he might have enriched this department of our 
poetical literature. 

Many of the songs are stained with the grossness that 
defiled the whole drama of the Restoration. Others are 
metrical commonplaces not worth transplantation. From 
the nature of the subjects, the selection is necessarily scanty, 
although Dryden' s plays yield a more plentiful crop of lyrics 
of various kinds than those of any of his contemporaries. 
A larger collection might have been made, but that numerous 
songs, otherwise unobjectionable, are so closely interwoven 
with the business of the scene as to be inseparable from the 
dialogue. Of this character is the greater part of the opera 
of Albion and Alhanus, and nearly the whole of the lyrical 
version of the Tempest, a work in which Dryden appears to 
greater disadvantage than in any other upon which he was 
ever engaged.] 






JOHN DKYDEN. 



239 



THE INDIAN QUEEN. 1 664. 



INCANTATION. 

YOU twice ten hundred deities, 
To whom we daily sacrifice ; 
You Powers that dwell with fate below, 
And see what men are doomed to do, 
Where elements in discord dwell; 
Then God of Sleep arise and tell 
Great Zempoalla what strange fate 
Must on her dismal vision wait. 
By the croaking of the toad, 
In their caves that make abode ; 
Earthy Dun that pants for breath, 
With her swelled sides full of death; 
By the crested adders' pride, 
That along the clifts do glide; 
By thy visage fierce and black; 
By the death's head on thy back; 
By the twisted serpents placed 
For a girdle round thy waist ; 
By the hearts of gold that deck 
Thy breast, thy shoulders, and thy neck: 
From thy sleepy mansion rise, 
And open thy unwilling eyes, 
While bubbling springs their music keep, 
That use to lull thee in thy sleep. 

SONG OF THE AERIAL SPIRITS. 

POOR mortals, that are clogged with earth below, 
Sink under love and care, 
While we, that dwell in air, 
Such heavy passions never know. 
Why then should mortals be 
Unwilling to be free 
From blood, that sullen cloud, 
Which shining souls does shroud? 

16—2 



240 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Then they'll shew bright, 
And like us light, 
When leaving bodies with their care, 
They slide to us and air. 

THE INDIAN EMPEROR. 1665. 



THE FOLLY OF MAKING TKOUBLES. 

AH fading joy! how quickly art thou past! 
Yet we thy ruin haste. 
As if the cares of human life were few, 

We seek out new : 
And follow fate, which would too fast pursue. 

See how on every bough the birds express 

In their sweet notes their happiness. 

They all enjoy and nothing spare, 

But on their mother nature lay their care : 

Why then should man, the lord of all below, 

Such troubles choose to know, 

As none of all his subjects undergo? 

Hark, hark, the waters, fall, fall, fall, 
And with a murmuring sound 
Dash, dash, upon the ground 
To gentle slumbers call. 

SECRET LOVEj OR, THE MAIDEN QUEEN. 1 667. 



CONCEALED LOVE. 

I FEED a flame within, which so torments me, 
That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me 
'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, 
That I had rather die, than once remove it. 

Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it ; 
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. 
Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain, discloses, 
But they fall silently, like dew on roses. 



JOHN DRYDEN. 241 

Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, 
My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel : 
And while I suffer this to give him quiet, 
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. 

On his eyes will 1 gaze, and there delight me; 
While I conceal my love no frown can fright me : 
To be more happy, I dare not aspire; 
Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher. 

SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL; OR, THE FEIGNED 
INNOCENCE. 1667. 



DEEP IN LOVE. 

"jDLIND love, to this hour, 

•*-* Had ne'er, like me, a slave under his power : 

Then blessed be the dart, 

That he threw at my heart ; 
For nothing can prove 
A joy so great, as to be wounded with love. 

My days, and my nights, 
Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights : 

From my heart still I sigh, 

And my eyes are ne'er dry ; 
So that, Cupid be praised, 
I am to the top of love's happiness raised. 

My soul's all on fire, 
So that I have the pleasure to dote and desire : 

Such a pretty soft pain, 

That it tickles each vein; 

'Tis the dream of a smart, [heart. 

Which makes me breathe short, when it beats at my 

Sometimes, in a pet, 
When I'm despised, I my freedom would get : 

But straight a sweet smile 

Does my anger beguile, 
And my heart does recal ; 
Then the more I do struggle, the lower I fall 



242 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Heaven does not impart 
Such a grace as to love unto every one's heart; 

For many may wish 

To be wounded, and miss : 
Then blessed be love's fire, 
And more blessed her eyes, that first taught me desire. 

TYRANNIC LOVE J OR, THE ROYAL MARTYR. 1 669. 



ST. CATHERINE ASLEEP. 

YOU pleasing dreams of love and sweet delight, 
Appear before this slumbering Virgin's sight : 
Soft visions set her free 
From mournful piety; 
Let her sad thoughts from heaven retire ; 
And let the melancholy love 
Of those remoter joys above 
Give place to your more sprightly fire ; 
Let purling streams be in her fancy seen, 
And flowery meads, and vales of cheerful green ; 
And in the midst of deathless groves 
Soft sighing wishes lie, 
And smiling hopes fast by, 
And just beyond them ever-laughing loves. 

THE COURSE OP LOVE. 

A H, how sweet it is to love ! 
-£*- Ah, how gay is young desire ! 
And what pleasing pains we prove 
When we first approach love's fire ! 
Pains of love be sweeter far 
Than all other pleasures are. 

Sighs, which are from lovers blown, 
Do but gently heave the heart : 
Even the tears they shed alone, 
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. 



JOHN DRYDEN. 243 

Lovers when they lose their breath, 
Bleed away in easy death. 

Love and time with reverence use; 

Treat them like a parting friend, 

Nor the golden gifts refuse, 

Which in youth sincere they send : 
For each year their price is more, 
And they less simple than before. 

Love, like spring-tides, full and high, 
Swells in every youthful vein; 
But each tide does less supply, 
Till they quite shrink in again : 

If a flow in age appear, 

'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. 

AMBOYNA. 1673. 



w 



THE SEA FIGHT. 

HO ever saw a noble sight, 



That never viewed a brave sea-fight ! 
Hang up your bloody colours in the air, 
Up with your lights, and your nettings prepare; 
Your merry mates cheer with a lusty bold spright, 
Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight. 
St. George ! St. George ! we cry, 
The shouting Turks reply. 

Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, 
Ply it with culverin and with small shot ; 
Hark, does it not thunder'? no, 'tis the gun's roar, 
The neighbouring billows are turned into gore; 
Now each man must resolve to die, 
For here the coward cannot fly. 
Drums and trumpets toll the knell, 
And culverins the passing bell. 
Now, now they grapple, and now board amain; 
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again : 



244- SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, 
Down comes the mast, and yard and tacklings fall; 
She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, 
She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel. 
Who ever beheld so noble a sight. 
As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight ! 

ALBION AND ALE-ANUS. 1685. 



RISING FROM THE SEA. 

T?KOM the low palace of old father Ocean, 
-*- Come we in pity our cares to deplore ; 
Sea-racing dolphins are trained for our motion, 
Moony tides swelling to roll us ashore. 

Every nymph of the flood, her tresses rending, 
Throws off her armlet of pearl in the main ; 
Neptune in anguish his charge unattending, 
Vessels are foundering, and vows are in vain. 



KING ARTHUR; OR, THE BRITISH WORTHY. 1 69 1. 



HARVEST HOME/ 



YOUR hay it is mowed, and your corn is reaped : 
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heaped : 
Come, my boys, come ; 
Come, my boys, come ; 
And merrily roar out harvest home ■ 
Harvest home, 
Harvest home; 
And merrily roar out harvest home ! 

Come, my boys, come, &c. 



* This rustic madrigal, with its rant against the parsons, forms 
part of the enchantments of Merlin, and is sung by Comus and pea- 
sants. The introduction of Comus is as anomalous as the allusion to 
tithes. 



JOHN DRYDEN. 245 

We have cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again, 
For why should a blockhead have one in ten? 

One in ten, 

One in ten; 
For why should a blockhead have one in ten, 

For prating so long like a book-learned sot, 
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot, 

Burn to pot, 

Burn to pot ; 
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot. 

Burn to pot, &c. 

We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand : 
And hoigh for the honour of Old England : 

Old England, 

Old England j 
And hoigh for the honour of Old England. 
Old England, &c. 

CLEOMENESj OR, THE SPARTAN HERO. 1692. 



FIDELITY. 



NO, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour, 
Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her; 
My ravished eyes behold such charms about her, 
I can die with her, but not live without her;* 
One tender sigh of hers to see me languish, 
Will more than pay the price of my past anguish ; 
Beware, O cruel fair, how you smile on me, 
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me. 

Love has in store for me one happy minute, 
And she will end my pain who did begin it ; 
Then no day void of bliss, of pleasure, leaving, 
Ages shall slide away without perceiving : 

* As for the women, though we scorn and flout 'em, 
We may live with, but cannot live without 'em. 

The Will. 



246 SONGS PROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Cupid shall guard the door, the more to please us, 
And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us; 
Time and Death shall depart, and say, in flying, 
Love has found out a way to live by dying. 



love triumphant; or, nature will prevail. 1693. 



THE TYRANT JEALOUSY. 

WHAT state of life can be so blessed 
As love, that warms a lover's breast? 
Two souls in one, the same desire 
To grant the bliss, and to require ! 
But if in heaven a hell we find, 
'Tis all from thee, 
O Jealousy! 
'Tis all from thee, 
Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
Thou tyrant of the mind! 
All other ills, though sharp they prove, 
Serve to refine, and perfect love : 
In absence, or unkind disdain, 
Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain. 
But ah ! no cure but death we find, 
To set us free 
From Jealousy : 
O Jealousy! 

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
Thou tyrant of the mind. 
False in thy glass all objects are, 
Some set too near, and some too far; 
Thou art the fire of endless night, 
The fire that burns and gives no light. 
All torments of the damned we find 
In only thee, 
O Jealousy! 

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
Thou tyrant of the mind ! 



SIR GEORGE ETIIEREGE. 247 

THE SECULAR MASQUE. 170O. 



THE SONG OF DIANA. 



WITH horns and with hounds, I waken the day, 
And hie to the woodland-walks away; 
I tuck up my robe, and am buskined soon, 
And tie to my forehead a wexing moon.* 
I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox, 
And chase the wild goats o'er summits of rocks ; 
With shouting and hooting Ave pierce through the sky, 
And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry. 



SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE. 
1636 . 

LOVE IN A TUB. 



BEAUTY NO ARMOUR AGAINST LOVE. 

LADIES, though to your conquering eyes 
Love owes his chiefest victories, 
And borrows those bright arms from you 
With which he does the world subdue, 
Yet you yourselves are not above 
The empire nor the griefs of love. 

Then wrack not lovers with disdain, 
Lest love on you revenge their pain; 
You are not free because y're fair ; 
The boy did not his mother spare. 

Beauty's but an offensive dart; 

It is no armour for the heart. 



* Wexing, or waxing, as Dryden has elsewhere employed it : — 
• 'Tis Venus' hour, and in the toaxing moon, 
"With chalk I first describe a circle here.' 

Tyrannic Love. 



248 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

THOMAS SHADWELL. 

1640 — 1692. 

[Shadwell's plays abound in songs, but the bulk of them 
are too slovenly, frivolous, or licentious, to deserve preserva- 
tion in a separate form. His comedies, admirable as pictures 
of contemporary meanness, supplied an appropriate setting 
for his coarse and reckless verses ; but such pieces will not 
bear to be exhibited apart from the scenes for which they 
were designed. The following, however, may be accepted as 
characteristic of the time and the writer.] 

THE WOMAN CAPTAIN. 



THE ROARERS. 

THE king's most faithful subjects we 
In's service are not dull, 
We drink, to show our loyalty, 

And make his coffers full. 
Would all his subjects drink like us, 

We'd make him richer far, 
More powerful and more prosperous 
Than all the Eastern monarchs are.* 

THE AMOROUS BIGOT. 



LOVE IN YOUTH AND IN AGE. 

THE fire of love in youthful blood, 
Like what is kindled in brushwood, 
But for a moment burns; 
Yet in that moment makes a mighty noise, 
It crackles, and to vapour turns, 
And soon itself destroys. 

But when crept into aged veins 
It slowly burns, and long remains ; 

* See ante, p. 147. Dryden, in his Vindication of the Duke of Guise, 
says that the only loyal service Shadwell^ould render the king was to 
increase the revenue by drinking. 



SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 249 

And with a sullen heat, 
Like fire in logs, it glows, and warms 'em long, 
And though the flame be not so great, 

Yet is the heat as strong. 

TIJION OF ATHENS. 



DAWN OP MORNING. 

THE fringed vallance of your eyes advance, 
Shake off your canopied and downy trance ; 
Phoebus already quaffs the morning dew, 
Each does his daily lease of life renew. 

He darts his beams on the lark's mossy house, 

And from his quiet tenement does rouse 

The little charming and harmonious fowl, 

Which sings its lump of body to a soul : 

Swiftly it clambers up in the steep air 

With warbling throat, and makes each note a stair. 

This the solicitous lover straight alarms, 
Who too long slumbered in his Celia's arms : 
And now the swelling spunges of the night 
With aching heads stagger from their delight : 
Slovenly tailors to their needles haste : 
Already now the moving shops are placed 
By those who crop the treasures of the fields, 
And all those gems the ripening summer yields. 



SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
1639 — 1701. 

THE MULBERRY GARDEN. 



THE GK0WTH OF LOVE. 

AH Chloris ! that I now could sit 
As unconcerned, as when 
Your infant beauty could beget 
No pleasure nor no pain. 



250 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

When I the dawn used to admire, 
And praised the coming day, 

I little thought the growing fire 
Must take my rest away. 

Your charms in harmless childhood lay, 

Like metals in the mine : 
Age from no face took more away, 

Than youth concealed in thine. 

But as your charms insensibly 
To their perfection pressed, 

Fond love as unperceived did fly, 
And in my bosom rest. 

My passion with your beauty grew, 

And Cupid at my heart, 
Still, as his mother favoured you, 

Threw a new flaming dart. 

Each gloried in their wanton part ; 
To make a lover, he 
Employed the utmost of his art — 
To make a beauty she. 

Though now I slowly bend to love, 

Uncertain of my fate, 
If your* fair self my chains approve, 

I shall my freedom hate. 

Lovers, like dying men, may well 

At first disordered be ; 
Since none alive can truly tell 

What fortune they must see. 



251 



TOM D'URFEY. 
1723. 

THE COMICAL HISTORY OP DON QUIXOTE. 



STILL WATER. 

DAMON let a friend advise ye, 
Follow Clores though she flies ye, 
Though her tongue your suit is slighting, 
Her kind eyes you'll find inviting : 
Women's rage, like shallow water, 
Does but show their hurtless nature ; 
When the stream seems rough and frowning, 
There is still least fear of drowning. 

Let me tell the adventurous stranger, 
In our calmness lies our danger; 
Like a river's silent running, 
Stillness shows our depth and cunning : 
She that rails ye into trembling, 
Only shows her fine dissembling; 
But the fawner to abuse ye, 
Thinks ye fools, and so will use ye. 

THE MODERN PROPHETS; OR, NEW WIT FOR A HUSBAND. 



THE FOP OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 

I HATE a fop that at his glass sits prinking half the 
With a sallow, frowsy, olive-coloured face, [day, 
And a powdered peruke hanging to his waist; 
Who with ogling imagines to possess, 
And to show his shape 
Does cringe and scrape. 
But nothing has to say : 

Or if the courtship's fine, 
He'll only cant and whine, 
And in confounded poetry, he'll goblins make divine. 



252 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

I love the bold and brave, 
I hate the fawning slave, 
Who quakes and cries, 
And sighs and lies, 
Yet wants the skill 
With sense to tell 
What 'tis he longs to have. 



SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 

1666— 1726. 

THE relapse; or, virtue in danger. 



BEWARE OF LOVE. 

I SMILE at Love and all its arts, 
The charming Cynthia cried; 
Take heed, for Love has piercing darts, 

A wounded swain replied ; 
Once free and blessed as you are now, 

I trifled with his charms, 
I pointed at his little bow, 

And sported with his arms : 
Till urged too far, Revenge ! he cries, 

A fatal shaft he drew, 
It took its passage through your eyes, 

And to my heart it flew. 

To tear it thence I tried in vain, 

To strive I quickly found 
Was only to increase the pain, 

And to enlarge the wound. 
Ah ! much too well, I fear you know 

What pain I'm to endure, 
Since what your eyes alone could do 

Your heart alone can cure. 



SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 253 

And that (grant Heaven I may mistake !) 

I doubt is doomed to bear 
A burthen for another's sake, 

Who ill rewards its care. 



THE PROVOKED WIFE. 



LOVELESS BEAUTY. 

FLY, fly, you happy shepherds, fly! 
Avoid Philira's charms; 
The rigor of her heart denies 

The heaven that's in her arms. 
Ne'er hope to gaze, and then retire, 

Nor yielding, to be blessed : 
Nature, who formed her eyes of fire, 
Of ice composed her breast. 

Yet, lovely maid, this once believe 

A slave whose zeal you move ; 
The gods, alas, your youth deceive, 

Their heaven consists in love. 
In spite of all the thanks you owe, 

You may reproach 'em this, 
That where they did their form bestow, 

They have denied their bliss. 

^SOP. 



LEAENED WOMEN. 

pVNCE on a time, a nightingale 
" To changes prone ; 
Unconstant, fickle, whimsical, 

(A female one) 
Who sung like others of her kind, 
Hearing a well-taught linnet's airs, 
Had other matters in her mind, 
To imitate him she prepares. 

THE DRAMATISTS. 17 



254 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

Her fancy straight was on the wing: 

' I fly,' quoth she, 

'As well as he; 

I don't know why 

I should not try 
As well as he to sing.' 

From that day forth she changed her note, 
She spoiled her voice, she strained her throat 
She did, as learned women do, 

Till everthing 

That heard her sing, 
Would run away from her — as I from you. 



WILLIAM CONGREVE. 
1672 — 1728. 

LOVE FOR LOVE. 



THE ORACLE. 

ANY MPH and a swain to Apollo once prayed, 
The swain had been jilted, the nymph been betrayed : 
Their intent was to try if his oracle knew 
E'er a nymph that was chaste, or a swain that was true. 

Apollo was mute, and was like t' have been posed, 
But sagely at length he this secret disclosed : 
' He alone won't betray in whom none will confide : 
And the nymph may be chaste that has never been tried.' 

love's infidelities. 

I TELL thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve, 
And could again begin to love and live, 
To you I should my earliest offering give ; 
I know my eyes would lead my heart to you, 
And I should all my vows and oaths renew; 
But, to be plain, I never would be true. 



WILLIAM CONGREVE. 255 

For by our weak and weary truth I find, 
Love hates to centre in a point assigned : 
But runs with joy the circle of the mind : 
Then never let us chain what should be free, 
But for relief of either sex agree : 
Since women love to change, and so do we. 

THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 



LOVE S AMBITION". 

LOYE'S but the frailty of the mind, 
When 'tis not with ambition joined; 
A sickly flame, which, if not fed, expires, 
And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires. 

Tis not to wound a wanton boy, 
Or amorous youth, that gives the joy; 
But 'tis the glory to have pierced a swain, 
For whom inferior beauties sighed in vain. 

Then I alone the conquest prize, 

When I insult a rival's eyes : 
If there's delight in love, 'tis when I see 
That heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me. 

DRINKING SONG. 

PRITHEE fill me the glass, 
Till it laugh in my face, 
With ale that is potent and mellow; 
He that whines for a lass, 
Is an ignorant ass, 
For a bumper has not its fellow. 

We'll drink and we'll never ha' done, boys, 

Put the glass then around with the sun, boys, 
Let Apollo's example invite us ; 

For he's drunk every night, 

And that makes him so bright, 
That he's able next morning to light us. 

17-2 



256 SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 

To drink is a Christian diversion, 
Unknown to the Turk or the Persian : 

Let Mahometan fools 

Live by heathenish rules, 
And be damned over tea-cups and coffee ; 

But let British lads sing, 

Crown a health to the king, 
And a fig for your sultan and sophy ! 



GEOKGE FARQUHAR. 

1678— 1707. 

LOVE AND A BOTTLE. 



FALSE LOVE ONLY IS BLIND. 

HOW blessed are lovers in disguise ! 
Like gods, they see, 

As I do thee, 
Unseen by human eyes. 

Exposed to view, 

I'm hid from you, 
I'm altered, yet the same : 

The dark conceals me, 

Love reveals me; 
Love, which lights me by its flame. 

Were you not false, you me would know; 

For though your eyes 

Could not devise, 
Your heart had told you so. 

Your heart would beat 

With eager heat, 
And me by sympathy would find : 

True love might see 

One changed like me, 
False love is only blind. 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 257 



THE TWINS. 



WIT IN JAIL. 

THE Tower confines the great, 
The spunging-house the poor; 
Thus there are degrees of state 

That even the wretched must endure. 
"Virgil, though cherished in courts, 

Relates but a splenetic tale : 
Cervantes revels and sports, 
Although he writ in a jail. 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 

THE DUENNA. 



LOVE FOR LOVE. 

I NE'ER could any lustre see 
In eyes that would not look on me; 
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, 
But where my own did hope to sip. 
Has the maid who seeks my heart 
Cheeks of rose, untouched by art? 
I will own the colour true, 
When yielding blushes aid their hue. 

Is her hand so soft and pure? 
I must press it, to be sure; 
Nor can I be certain then, 
Till it, grateful, press again. 
Must I, with attentive eye, 
Watch her heaving bosom sigh? 
I will do so, when I see 
That heaving bosom sigh for me. 



258 



SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 



CONDITIONS OF BEAUTY. 

/^ IVE Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast, 
" But health and good humour to make her his toast ; 
If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat, 
And six feet or four — we'll ne'er quarrel for that. 

Whate'er her complexion I vow I don't care, 
If brown, it is lasting — more pleasing, if fair : 
And though in her face I no dimples should see, 
Let her smile — and each dell is a dimple to me. 

Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen, 
And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green ; 
For in eyes, though so various the lustre and hue, 
I swear I've no choice — only let her have two. 

'Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back ; 
And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black; 
A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard ; 
But I only desire she mayn't have a beard. 



THE SUNSHINE OF AGE. 

OH, the days when I was young, 
When I laughed in fortune's spite; 
Talked of love the whole day long, 

And with nectar crowned the night! 
Then it was, old father Care, 

Little recked I of thy frown; 

Half thy malice youth could bear, 

And the rest a bumper drown. 

Truth, they say, lies in a well, 

Why I vow I ne'er could see; 
Let the water-drinkers tell, 

There it always lay for me : 
For when sparkling wine went rounds 

Never saw I falsehood's mask; 
But still honest truth I found 

In the bottom of each flask. 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 259 

True, at length my vigour's flown, 

I have years to bring decay ; 
Few the locks that now I own, 

And the few I have are grey. 
Yet, old Jerome, thou mayst boast, 

While thy spirits do not tire; 
Still beneath thy age's frost, 

Glows a spark of youthful fire. 

DRINKING GLEE. 

THIS bottle's the sun of our table, 
His beams are rosy wine; 
We, planets, that are not able 
Without his help to shine. 
Let mirth and glee abound! 

You'll soon grow bright 
With borrowed light, 
And shine as he goes round ! 



THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 



LET THE TOAST PASS. 

TJERE'S to the maiden of bashful fifteen; 
-*-*- Here's to the widow of fifty ; 
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean, 
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty. 

Let the toast pass, 

Drink to the lass, 
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. 

Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize, 
Now to the maid who has none, sir : 

Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, 
And here's to the nymph with but one, sir. 
Let the toast pass, &c. 



SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS, 

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow; 

Now to her that's as brown as a berry : 
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe, 

And now to the damsel that's merry. 

Let the toast pass, &c. 

For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim, 
Young or ancient, I care not a feather ; 
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim, 
So fill up your glasses, nay, fill to the brim, 
And let us e'en toast them together. 

Let the toast pass, &c* 



* These gay and flowing verses, perhaps the most popular of their 
class in the language, are evidently modelled on the following song in 
Suckling's play of the Goblins : 

' A health to the nut-hrown lass 
With the hazel eyes, let it pass, 

She that has good eyes, &c. 
Let it pass — let it pass. 

As much to the lively grey, 

'Tis as good in the night as the day, 

She that hath good eyes, &c. 
Drink away — drink away. 

I pledge, I pledge, what ho ! some wine, 
Here's to thine — here's to thine ! 

The colours are divine ; 
But oh ! the black, the black, 
Give me as much again, and let 't be sack ; 

She that hath good eyes,' &c. 

This song was appropriated by S. Sheppard, in a comedy called the 
Committee-man curried, 1647. Sheppard was a notorious plagiarist, 
and had the audacity to publish the lines without any acknowledg- 
ment of the source from whence he stole them. 



INDEX 

TO 

THE FIRST LINES OF THE SONGS. 



PAGB 

A curse upon thee, for a slave ! 162 

Adieu; farewell, earth's bliss 69 

Agincourt, Agiucourt ! know ye not Agincourt ? . . . . 198 

Ah Chloris ! that I now could sit 249 

Ah fading joy ! how quickly art thou passed ! 240 

Ah ! how sweet it is to love ! 242 

All a green willow, willow 25 

All that glisters is not gold .'.... 86 

All ye woods and trees, and bowers 135 

Among all sorts of people 223 

And to begin 23 

And will he not come again ? 103 

A nymph and a swain to Apollo once prayed 254 

Arm, arm, arm, arm ! the scouts are all come in . . . . 138 

Art thou god to shepherd turned 93 

Art thou gone in haste? 185 

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 180 

A thing very fit 16 

At Venus' entreaty for Cupid her son 61 

Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure .... 69 

Back and side go bare, go bare 33 

Beauty, alas! where wast thou born 65 

Beauty arise, show forth thy glorious shining 181 

Beauty clear and fair 122 

Be merry, friends, take ye no thought 26 

Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray 169 

Blind Cupid, lay aside thy bow 191 

Blind love, to this hour ; . . . 241 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 91 

Brave Don, cast your eyes on our gipsy fashions . . . . 175 

Broom, Broom on hill 46 

Broom, broom, the bonny broom ! 139 



262 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

Call for the robin red-breast and the wren . . ... 182 

Can Luciamira so mistake 236 

Can you paint a thought ? or number . . 209 

Cast away care ; he that loves sorrow 208 

Cast our caps and cares away 125 

Change, oh change your fatal bows 226 

Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain 178 

Come away, away, away 224 

Come away, come away 168 

Come away, come away, death 89 

Come away, thou lady gay 144 

Come, come, thou glorious object of my sight 236 

Come, follow your leader, follow 173 

Come, Fortune's a jade, I care not who tell her 146 

Come hither, you that love, and hear me sing 151 

Come let the state stay 213 

Come list and hark, the bell doth toll 196 

Come, my Celia, let us prove 115 

Come, my children, let your feet 157 

Come, my dainty doxies 170 

Come, shepherds, come 129 

Come, sleep, and, with thy sweet deceiving 160 

Come, thou monarch of the vine 109 

Come unto these yellow sands 98 

Come will you buy ? for I have here 234 

Come you whose loves are dead 153 

Comforts lasting, loves encreasing 210 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 50 

Cupid, pardon what is past 158 

Damon, let a friend advise you 251 

Dearest, do not delay me 123 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 79 

Done to death by slanderous tongues 87 

Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer 100 

Do not fear to put thy feet 134 

Down, ye angry waters all ! 149 

Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow 145 

Drink to me only with thine eyes 121 

Enter a maid ; but made a bride 203 

Fair and fair, and twice as fair 58 

Fair Apollo, whose bright beams 188 

Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore ... 68 

Fancies are but- streams 206 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun 104 



INDEX. 



263 



PAGB 

Fill it up, fill it up to the brink 214 

Fine young folly, though you were 218 

Fly, fly, you happy shepherds, fly! 253 

Fly hence shadows, that do keep 209 

Foolish, idle toys 1 87 

Fools had ne'er less grace in a year 106 

Fools, they are the only nation 114 

For I'll cut my green coat, a foot above my knee . . . . 160 

For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill 1 53 

From the east to western Ind 92 

From the low palace of old father Ocean 244 

From thy forehead thus I take 130 

Full fathom five thy father lies 98 

Fy on a sinful fantasy ! 88 

Gently dip, but not too deep 62 

Get you hence, for I must go 97 

Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty could boast . . . . 258 

Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease 211 

Go, happy heart ! for thou shalt lie 137 

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes 180 

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day 102 

Grieve not, fond man, nor let one tear 192 

Hail, beauteous Dian, queen of shades 201 

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings 104 

Hark, now everything is still . . 183 

Hi.ou thou seen the down in the air 214 

Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers 207 

Hear ye ladies that despise 143 

Hence, all you vain delights 162 

Hence merrily fine to get money 182 

Here lies the blithe spring 207 

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen 259 

Hey dery dery, with a lusty dery 45 

His golden locks time hath to silver turned 60 

Honour, riches, marriage-blessing 99 

Hot sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air 63 

How blessed are lovers in disguise ! 256 

How round the world goes, and everything that's in it . . 176 

How should I your true love know 102 

I am gone, sir 89 

I care not for these idle toys 184 

I could never have the power 122 

If all these Cupids now were blind • . 116 

I feed a flame within, which so torments me 240 



264 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

If I freely may discover 112 

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love ? . . . 78 

If she be made of white and red 78 

I hate a fop that at his glass sits prinking half the day . . 251 

I have a pretty titmouse 48 

Immortal gods, I claim no pelf 108 

I mun be married a Sunday 18 

In a maiden -time professed 168 

In a silent shade, as I sat a sunning 43 

I ne'er could any lustre see 257 

I neither will lend nor borrow 225 

In love's name you are charged hereby 223 

In youth when I did love, did love 103 

Io Bacchus! to thy table 55 

Isis, the goddess of this land 140 

I smile at love and all its arts 252 

I tell thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve 254 

It was a beauty that I saw 120 

It was a lover and his lass 94 

I would not be a serving-man 153 

Jog on, jog on, the footpath way 97 

King Stephen was a worthy peer 105 

Knocks go and come 101 

Ladies, though to your conquering eyes 247 

Lawn, as white as driven snow 97 

Lay a garland on my hearse 122 

Let the bells ring, and let the boys sing 124 

Let those complain that feel Love's cruelty 148 

Let us live, live ! for, being dead 223 

Like to Diana in her summer weed 66 

Live with me still, and all the measures 206 

London, to thee I do present 154 

Love's but the frailty of the mind 255 

Love for such a cherry lip 166 

Love, love, nothing but love, still more ! 109 

Love is a law, a discord of such force 184 

Love is blind, and a wanton 113 

Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion 165 

Love is the sire, dam, nurse, and seed 216 

Lovers, rejoice ! your pains shall be rewarded 158 

Love's a lovely lad 186 

Lullaby, lullaby, baby 190 

Maistek Ptoister Doister will straight go home and die . . 19 

Melampus, when will Love be void of fears ? £1 



INDEX. 265 

PAGE 

Melpomene, the muse of tragic songs 59 

My Daphne's hair is twisted gold 54 

My man Thomas 143 

My masters, my friends, and good people, draw near . . . 117 

My shag-hair Cyclops, come, let's ply 51 

Now does jolly Janus greet your merriment 185 

Now fie on Love, it ill befits 191 

Now having leisure, and a happy wind 156 

No, no, fair heretic, it needs must be 213 

No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour .... 245 

Now the hungry lion roars 84 

Now the lusty spring is seen 142 

Now, until the break of day 84 

Now what is love I will thee tell 195 

Now, whilst the moon doth rule the sky 131 

cruel Love, on thee I lay . 51 

Cupid ! monarch over kings 56 

for a bowl of fat canary 167 

gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed 58 

Oh, fair sweet face ! oh, eyes celestial bright 1 56 

Oh, fair, sweet goddess, queen of loves 138 

Oh, how my lungs do tickle ! ha, ha, ha 163 

Oh, no more, no more, too late 210 

Oh, sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell 189 

Oh, the days when I was young 258 

Oh, turn thy bow ! 161 

0, let us howl some heavy note 183 

Mistress mine, where are you roaming ? 88 

On a day, (alack the day !) 80 

Once on a time, a nightingale 253 

stay, turn, pity me 187 

0, that joy so soon should waste ! Ill 

0, the month of May, the merry month of May .... 178 

Orpheus I am, come from the deeps below 137 

Orpheus with his lute made trees 101 

Opinion, how dost thou molest 73 

Over hill, over dale 82 

yes, yes, if any maid 53 

Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed 54 

Pardon, goddess of the night 87 

Pinch him, pinch him, black and blue 53 

Pipe, merry Annot 15 

Pity, pity, pity ! .166 

Pleasures, beauty, youth attend ye 211 



266 INDEX. 

PAGE 

Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below .... 239 

Prithee fill me the glass 255 

Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair 112 

Rise from the shades below 126 

Eoses, their sharp spines being gone 159 

Bun to love's lottery ! run, maids, and rejoice 229 

Shepherds all, and maidens fair 1£9 

She's pretty to walk with 213 

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more 87 

Since you desire my absence 186 

Sing his praises that doth keep 128 

Sing to Apollo, god of day 55 

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears . . . 110 

So beauty on the waters stood 115 

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 79 

Spite of his spite, which that in vain 40 

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king ... 68 

Stand! who goes there? 52 

Still to be neat, still to be drest 116 

Take, oh ! take those lips away 95 

Take, oh ! take those lips away 147 

Tell me dearest, what is love? 150 

Tell me tidings of my mother 225 

Tell me what is that only thing 156 

Tell me where is fancy bred ? 85 

The blushing rose, and purple flower 202 

The bread is all baked 232 

The fire of love in youthful blood 248 

The fit's upon me now . . 125 

The fringed vallance of your eyes advance 249 

The gentry to the King's Head 196 

The glories of our blood and state 227 

The king's most faithful subjects we 248 

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I 99 

The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree 106 

The Spaniard loves his ancient slop 199 

The Tower confines the great 257 

The woosel-cock, so black of hue 83 

Then, in a free and lofty strain 114 

Then is there mirth in heaven 95 

Then our music is in prime 215 

There is not any wise man 187 

This bottle's the sun of our table 259 



INDEX. 



267 



PAGB 

This cursed jealousy, what is it ? 229 

This way, this way come, and hear 142 

Thou deity, swift- winged Love 161 

Thou divinest, fairest, brightest 135 

Thou more than most sweet glove Ill 

Thou that art called the bright Hyperion 197 

Though I am young and cannot tell 120 

Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed 107 

Through yon same bending plain 126 

Thy best hand lay on this turf of grass 174 

'Tis, in good truth, a most wonderful thing 230 

'Tis late and cold ; stir up the fire 149 

'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood 152 

Tobacco's a Musician 220 

Trip it, gipsies, trip it fine 172 

Under the greenwood tree 90 

Urns and odours bring away ! 160 

Victorious men of earth, no more 226 

Virtue's branches wither, virtue pines 177 

Wake all the dead ! what ho ! what ho ! 231 

Wake, our mirth begins to die 113 

Walking in a shady grove 76 

Was this fair face the cause, quoth she 82 

Wedding is great Juno's crown 95 

Weep eyes, break heart ! 171 

Weep no more for what is past 233 

Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan 152 

Weep, weep, ye woodmen wail 192 

Weep, weep, you Argonauts 190 

Welladay, welladay, poor Colin, thou art going to the ground 59 

Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green 204 

We show no monstrous crocodile 235 

What bird so sings, yet does so wail ? 50 

What bird so sings, yet does so wail ? 206 

What heart can think, or tongue express 29 

What powerful charms my streams do biing 133 

What shall he have that killed the deer? 93 

What state of life can be so blessed 246 

What thing is love ? for sure love is a thing 62 

Whenas the rye reach to the chin 62 

When daffodils begin to peer 96 

When daisies pied, and violets blue 80 

When shall we three meet again '. 107 

When that I was and a little tiny boy 89 



268 INDEX. 

FAGB 

When travels grete in matters thick 38 

When wanton love hath walked astray 43 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I 100 

While you here do snoring lie .... 99 

Whither shall I go 186 

Who ever saw a noble sight 243 

Who is Silvia? What is she? 77 

Who so to marry a minion wife 17 

Why art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death .... 203 

Why should this desert silent be ? 92 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 212 

Will you buy any tape 98 

With fair Ceres, Queen of Grain 198 

With horns and with hounds, I waken the day 247 

Woodmen, shepherds, come away 222 

Ye be welcome, ye be welcome 31 

Te little birds that sit and sing 198 

You pleasing dreams of love and sweet delight 242 

Your hay it is mowed, and your corn is reaped 244 

You spotted snakes, with double tongue 83 

You stole my love ; fy upon you, f y ! 44 

You that seek to sunder love 44 

You twice ten hundred deities 239 



THE END. 




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